


The Walls We Build

by thedevilstiger



Category: The Haunting of Hill House (TV show), The Haunting of Hill House - Shirley Jackson
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gratuitous use of metaphors, anyway Steve isn’t a bad person, steve Crain defense club, yall are just mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-08-04 15:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16349597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilstiger/pseuds/thedevilstiger
Summary: Steve has always had his walls up so high. He’s been trying to break them down, to let people in, but it’s hard when he wants to protect his siblings and his wife. Really, he should know better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m fucking old and don’t know how Archive works anymore apparently?? It’s been so long since I posted and the options are so different. ANYWAY this will be a multi-chapter fic despite the fact that it says 1/1. Sorry about that! Pls forgive your elderly archiver

It gets worse at night. It always does, always has. Just like the house. It’s predictable enough that when Steve wakes up in the middle of the night, sweating and staring at the dark ceiling with a gaping hole inside him, he isn’t even surprised.

 

He can hear Leigh breathing softly and rhythmically beside him. He knows, without even looking over at her, that’s she’s sleeping curled up, facing the window, one hand loosely holding her pillow and one foot sticking out of the blankets. As he feels the hole in his chest grow, he decides he can’t bear to wake her.

 

Slowly and carefully, he slides off the bed, trying to be as silent as possible when he leaves the room. The door clicks quietly shut behind him, and he lets out the shaky breath he’d been holding in. The darkness around him seems to grow the longer he stands there, so he forces himself to walk down the hallway and into the living room, where he finally turns on a light. Just a small one, just the lamp sitting on the table beside him; he doesn’t want to wake Leigh.

 

She might have asked him to be more open with her, to stop keeping secrets, but that didn’t mean she wanted to deal with his shit  _ all  _ the time. She  _ shouldn’t  _ have to deal with it all the time. Steve already woke her up twice that week with the same problem; for once, he wants her to sleep. She deserves some peace.

 

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Steve finally lets a few tears slip from his eyes, only to quickly wipe them away. He’s not quite sure what he’s doing here. Not quite sure how Leigh could forgive him and let him back in her life. He doesn’t deserve it. Just like he doesn’t deserve his siblings’ forgiveness, doesn’t deserve to be let back into their lives. Not after everything he’s said and done. Not when he was supposed to protect them.

 

The ticking of the clock on the wall opposite of him is deafening. Every tick is echoed in his head with a sharp pain, mocking him and making his breath stutter. He’s on his feet before he can think about it, out of the house in the next breath, and he walks for a block before he realizes he’s not wearing shoes, or his glasses. 

 

A sharp, wounded sound escapes him, and he’s not sure if he’s laughing or weeping as his knees give out. A small piece of his mind tells him he looks crazy, sitting on a sidewalk in the middle of the night and falling apart. The word makes a tidal wave of shame and hate burn through him, and his stomach twists.  _ Crazy. _ The thing he’d called his mother, and his sister and his brother, just to dismiss them and their feelings because it was inconvenient for him.  _ They  _ were inconvenient.

 

He didn’t want to listen to them, didn’t want to consider any other possibilities other than what he’d decided in his own head. The reasons he’d made up without asking them, without trying to understand or empathize because it was too painful for  _ him _ . He’d even shut out his own dad until it was too late, and all he had left was a ghost. 

 

He’d been a horrible brother, a horrible son, a horrible husband. He’s been trying so hard to be better since that night at Hill House. He likes to think that he has been better, more understanding and kind. He’s been talking with his siblings frequently, and more importantly, he’s been  _ listening _ to them. He’d been there with them to celebrate Luke’s two years of sobriety, to support him, like he hadn’t been when Luke was thirty days clean. He helped Theo and Trish move into their new home, wanting to support them even if Theo never said she wanted help. He talked with Shirley whenever he could, whenever she’d let him. Trying to rebuild what he’d broken. He’d apologized to all of them, more than once, for everything he’d said and done.

 

But it wasn’t enough, and it never would be. Apologies mean nothing when they come years too late. Nothing he did could ever take back the hurt he’d caused all of them. 

 

Nell’s voice echoes in his head, as it so often does, as it has since they had the fight, as it probably always will. “ _ You’re supposed to be my big brother. You know? You’re supposed to protect me, but you say the meanest things to me when I try to tell you.” _

 

He can hear the hate in Shirley’s voice as she hisses, “ _ that’s blood money.” _

 

And his own voice, reminding him of all the awful things he’d said, the way he’d treated Luke, how he told his dad that the wrong parent died.

 

_ ‘No, _ ’ he thinks, curled up on the sidewalk and shaking with sobs, ‘ _ no, the wrong  _ sibling _ died.’  _ Because Nell deserved so much more. She’d saved them, had saved  _ him _ , even after what he’d done. Steve knows he should’ve been the one the house took. They’d be better off without him. Nell, she just wanted them all to be together. She deserves the happy ending, not him. Never him.

 

“ _ Stevie _ ! Steve! Hey!” someone shouts, cutting through the fog around his head. There are hands on his shoulders, gripping them tightly, and he keeps hearing horrible, wheezing gasps.

 

He realizes he’s the one making the wheezing noise at the same time he attaches a face to the voice.  _ Luke. _ His baby brother, Luke, is kneeling on the ground with him, squeezing his shoulders and yelling his name, and he looks so damn  _ scared _ that the world finally comes crashing back to Steve.

 

“I— you— you—“ he starts, but he’s cut off by Luke’s crushing hug.

 

“Finally! I’ve been… What’re you doing out here? What happened?” Luke asks, his voice cracking, and Steve only feels more ashamed.

 

He tries to formulate a response, tries to say something,  _ anything _ that will make him seem like the brave older brother he’s supposed to be. He tries to ask Luke what he’s doing here, how he found him, but all he can do is suck in sharp breaths and hate himself more. 

 

Luke pulls away slightly, hands still clutching Steve’s arms. “Stevie, you gotta breathe. You’re gonna pass out. Just… just copy me, okay? I’ll breathe loud, and you follow. Got it?” 

 

It’s all Steve can do to nod his head slightly, trying to copy his brother’s deep breaths. ‘ _ It’s supposed to be the other way around _ ,’ he thinks. ‘ _ He shouldn’t have to help me.’  _ Still, copying Luke helps, and soon enough, he’s breathing normally again.

 

“Are you okay?” he finally croaks out, and he tries not to look as weary as he feels.

 

Luke stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “ _ Me? _ Jesus, Steve, are  _ you  _ okay?” His grip on Steve’s shoulders loosens slightly, his eyes searching his older brother’s face.

 

“I’m fine, Luke,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. He’s acutely aware of how terrible the lie is, but he says it anyway. “What’re you doing out here? How come you’re not at your apartment?” 

 

Luke scoffs, irritation making his expression harden slightly. “Would you stop it with the bullshit? Steve, I was here for almost a full minute before you responded to me. I don’t even think you realized I was here! I was— I almost called an ambulance, man. Don’t tell me you’re ‘fine.’ I’m not a fucking idiot, okay? What the hell is going on?” he snaps.

 

Scrubbing his hands over his face roughly, Steve swallows thickly. “It’s nothing,” he insists. “I just… had a nightmare. Wanted to walk it off. Clear my head.”

 

“Right. A walk. Blind and barefoot,” Luke deadpans. At the answering silence, he sighs heavily and tries another tactic. “Shirl called. Had one of her dreams, she said. Couldn’t remember much from it, but she’s worried about you. You didn’t pick up your phone, and I live the closest, so.”

 

“Shit,” Steve hisses. “My phone’s dead. Sorry.”

 

Luke reaches over and flicks Steve’s forehead. “Charge it,” he says when Steve turns an offended gaze his way.

 

“I will,” Steve grumbles.

 

A brief silence settles over the pair, and Steve turns his gaze up to the moon. It’s a crescent moon tonight, although partially hidden in the dark clouds.

 

Luke, once again, is the one to break the silence. “Does Leigh know you went for a ‘walk?’” he asks, putting air quotes around the word.

 

Steve shoves his shoulder lightly. It’s playful, but the moment is broken when he lets out a quiet sigh, thinking through his response. “No. She’s asleep. I didn’t want to wake her up,” he finally settles on. It’s the truth, but not the full truth. A half-truth, hopefully enough for Luke to accept.

 

“Something tells me she’d want you to wake her up, Steve. What’re you gonna say if you get home and she woke up anyway? Gonna give her the same bullshit story?” Luke raises an eyebrow at Steve, a frown set on his face. It makes Steve’s stomach churn.

 

“It’s not bullshit!” Steve snaps, but his voice shakes slightly. He sucks in a breath, holds it for a moment, and pushes it out again. “I don’t— I don’t  _ know _ , Luke. I wasn’t really thinking about it, okay? I just wanted out of the damn house. I couldn’t… I wasn’t thinking.”

 

“What’s wrong with the house? Are you and Leigh okay?” Luke asks, his voice soft. Steve is quick to reassure him.

 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine. Really,” he insists, meeting Luke’s gaze for a brief moment before he looks away again. “I didn’t wake her up because I already have. Twice this week. Didn’t want her to lose any more sleep than she already has.” The honesty of it surprises him; he could’ve made up some excuse about Leigh having a long day. He could’ve made up a lot of things, or he could’ve kept shutting Luke out. It’s what he would’ve done before.

 

He can feel Luke staring at him. 

 

“Twice? It’s Wednesday,” Luke says. “How much sleep are  _ you  _ losing?” 

 

Shaking his head, Steve mumbles, “Doesn’t matter.”

 

It’s all he’s able to get out before Luke interrupts him. “Doesn’t matter?! Are you fucking kidding me? I—“

 

“It doesn’t  _ matter, _ Luke! I’m  _ fine _ , everything is  _ fine! _ I just—“ Steve shouts, but he stops when the sharp pain in his skull returns. He hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. 

 

Luke’s hand is on his shoulder again, but it’s much more gentle this time. “I just want to help, Stevie. Please. Something’s wrong.” He sounds scared again, and Steve risks opening his eyes and looking at him. He looks small and scared, and Steve is so strongly reminded of their childhood that he forgets to breathe for a second.

 

“I’m sorry, Luke. I’m so sorry. I can’t. It’s too… You’re not supposed to see this,” he mutters, taking a shaky breath. He suddenly feels like he might cry again, so he shuts his eyes and fights the urge. “I’ll be fine, okay? It’s just been a long night.”

 

“Fine.” Luke mutters, and he lets go of Steve, abruptly standing up and brushing himself off.

 

Steve knows he’s finally pushed his brother away, finally got him to stop asking questions. It’s a relief and a wound in equal measure.

 

He blinks in surprise when he sees Luke offering his hand to him, and he looks up to see his brother raising his eyebrows expectantly.

 

“Well, come on. We’ll head back to your house so you can get back to sleep. We can talk in the morning,” Luke insists. His hand hangs in the air between them, waiting for Steve to accept his help.

 

Steve blinks again. “I… I don’t want to wake up Leigh,” he stutters out. It’s the first thing he can think to say.

 

Luke just rolls his eyes. “My place, then. I’ll call a cab and text Leigh so she knows where you went.”

 

There’s a moment of hesitation before Steve finally takes Luke’s hand, standing up on still shaky legs. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cocoa Puffs & Migraines

Luke paces the floor of his room, counting each step as it comes.

 

_ One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. _

 

He can hear Steve’s snoring from the living room, and he takes a deep breath before grabbing his phone off the nightstand.

 

_ “You can take the bed, Steve. I don’t mind.”  _

_ “No, no, the couch is fine.” _

_ “Steve—“ _

_ “I’m sleeping on the couch.” _

 

Luke resumes his pacing as the phone rings, but it only rings twice before his sister picks up.

 

“Luke! Is Steve okay? Did you talk to him?” Shirley blurts. Luke wonders how long she’s been waiting by the phone.

 

He lets out a long breath, shaking his head slightly before he answers. “Yeah, I talked to him. He’s sleeping on my couch. Shirl, I… You were right. Something’s wrong. He just won’t… I can’t get him to talk about it.”

 

Shirley sighs. “Of course he won’t. Dammit,” she mutters. “Wait, did you say he’s on your couch? Is Leigh there?”

 

“No, she’s sleeping, I guess. I don’t think they’re fighting, if that’s what you’re wondering. He didn’t want to go home, though. Kept saying he didn’t want to wake her up. I’m pretty sure he’s the one who hasn’t been sleeping. I mean, besides snoring on my couch right now,” Luke explains. A half-hearted smile appears on his face, but it falls away as he glances toward the door. 

 

“Leigh needs to know. Call her, and see if she can come and talk to him. I can try and move my schedule around, see if I can make the trip out there sometime this week. I should be able to—“ 

 

“Shirl, you don’t have to. It’d probably overwhelm him if we all came running, anyway. Look, I’ll… I already text Leigh. She’ll probably drive over here as soon as she gets it. And… and I’m gonna try and talk to him again in the morning. If he still doesn’t wanna… I’ll call you, okay? We’ll figure it out. He’ll be okay,” Luke cuts in, his grip on the phone tightening slightly. ‘ _ He has to be okay. He’s always okay, _ ’ he thinks.

 

Quiet sniffling can be heard on the other end of the line. “You’d better call me, okay? And tell me everything that’s going on. I can get on a plane as soon as possible if you need. If… if he needs me. The second anything starts getting too bad, you call me,” Shirley demands. Luke hates the shakiness in her voice.

 

“What happened? In… in your dream?” He has to ask. It’s been nagging at him, sticking in his head since Shirley called him before. He’s just as scared to know the answer as he is curious of it.

 

Shirley sniffs again and clears her throat. “I don’t remember. I just… I just know it was bad,” she whispers. “But nightmares happen all the time. I’m probably overreacting a little. Thanks for checking up on him, Luke.”

 

“Of course. You’re my family. We gotta look out for each other.” Even if he knows them to be true, the words still feel strange on his tongue. It wasn’t that long ago that they were so separate from each other, after all.

 

Shirley must be thinking the same, because she lets out a soft breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Yeah. We do. I’ll talk to you later.”

 

“Goodnight, Shirl.”  Setting his phone down, Luke heaves another sigh. The clock on his bedside table says it’s four in the morning, so he climbs onto his bed and pulls the covers over his body.

 

_ One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Steve’s gonna be fine. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. _

 

_ ———— _

 

A shrill ringing jolts Luke awake. Fumbling for his phone, he forces himself to sit up and look at the time. Nine o’clock, and Leigh is calling. He scrubs at his face and taps the green icon. “Hey.”

 

“Hi, Luke. I just woke up and saw your text. Is everything okay?” Leigh asks. He can hear shuffling in the background, the click of a heavy door shutting.

 

“Yeah, uh, I’m not sure. I ran into Steve last night, and he was freaking out about something. I would’ve called you, but he wouldn’t let me wake you up. Uh, he’s here right now, probably still asleep…” Luke replies, rubbing the back of his head. He’s not sure how to explain exactly how he found Steve last night, or really how to talk to Leigh about this in general. He feels somehow as if he’s intruding, even though Steve is his brother.

 

Leigh mutters something under her breath that Luke can’t quite catch over the phone. “He’s  _ supposed _ to wake me up when that happens. I’m glad you—ran into him? He’s been having these terrible headaches lately. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night… Where’d you see him, anyway? He wasn’t home?” 

 

Clearing his throat, Luke looks toward the door. “Uh, he was walking around. I just happened to drive by,” he lies. He likes Leigh; she’s nice, she doesn’t take anyone’s shit. Most importantly, she cares about Steve. Still, there’s some things about the family that she just wouldn’t understand. “Did you say something about headaches?”

 

“Yeah. He’s been having a lot of migraines lately; I think he’s stressed about his book. I keep telling him to take a break… Luke, will you keep an eye on him today? Please? I have a meeting that I can’t miss, but I can stop by tonight if he’s still at your apartment.”

 

Scrunching up his face, Luke pulls the phone away from his ear to give it a look. Shuffling sounds from the living room snaps him out of it, and he puts the phone back to his ear quickly. “Yeah, sure, Leigh. What time do you get off work?”

 

“Five. I’ll be there around five thirty. Thank you so much,” Leigh says. 

 

Luke just shakes his head. “Yeah, no problem.” He barely gets the words out before Leigh hangs up. 

 

In the silence that follows, Luke takes a moment to sort out his thoughts. Clearly, Leigh’s worried, but she doesn’t think it’s too serious of an issue. Worried enough to ask he watch over Steve, calm enough to work. This should be comforting, but Luke can’t shake the fear in Shirley’s voice. Something is wrong, or something is  _ going  _ to be wrong. Because her dream had really scared her, and he’s not used to seeing his oldest siblings so scared.

 

That’s why he can’t relax, can’t quite accept that nothing is wrong. He can’t stop thinking about Steve hyperventilating. He’d never seen Steve so upset before, never seen him fall apart. Not when they were kids. Not even at Nellie’s funeral. 

 

He squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as he can and counts to seven. Then, taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes and forces himself out of bed. He knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep any time soon.

 

Trying to be quiet, he starts the short trek to the fridge. He’s doing his best to remember what’s inside of it, figuring out what he could make for breakfast when he suddenly stops in his tracks. There’s a figure, leaning against the counter.

 

Luke blinks, and he takes in the familiar blanket draped around the figure’s shoulders. His brain quickly catches up and fills in the dots from there, and he’s a little embarrassed that it scared him at all.

 

“Morning,” he greets, shuffling over to the fridge.

 

He doesn’t even get it open before Steve speaks up. “You need to go grocery shopping. Your fridge is abysmal.” 

 

Sure enough, his fridge is barren besides a half-empty carton of milk and a few condiments. “Nah, I got everything we need,” Luke counters. He moves toward the cabinets beside the fridge, pulling a couple things out before he turns back to his brother. “I have coffee and Cocoa Puffs.”

 

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Ah. A real gourmet breakfast, then.”   

 

“Shut up,” Luke laughs, turning his back again so he can get the coffee started. Steve shuffles over and gets out the spoons and bowls, and it strikes Luke again how much he’d missed this. The easy atmosphere with his brother, being able to call his siblings and joke and just  _ be.  _ They’d been robbed of it for so long, by themselves and each other and the damn  _ house. _

 

Hill House took so much from them. It had almost taken everything that last night, taken all of them. Luke’s stomach churns at the memory. There's only four of them left, now. Four, where there used to be seven (count them), and Luke knows that none of them can stand to lose anyone else. 

 

So he has to be brave. Even though he’s scared, even though he knows it won’t be easy, he has to push through, has to help Steve. He has to save his brother, even if he’s not sure what the danger is yet. That’s why Shirley called, why Luke rushed to his car to look for Steve, why he’d insisted he spend the night.

 

They’re going to help Steve, whether he likes it or not.

 

“Staring at it won’t make the coffee brew faster,” Steve comments. He already has a full bowl in front of him, and he raises an eyebrow in question at his brother.

 

Blinking owlishly as his brain catches up again, a quiet, nervous huff of laughter escapes Luke. “Right, sorry. I was totally spacing out,” he mutters and kicks himself back into gear. He pulls two mugs from the cabinet above him before moving to pour a bowl of cereal for himself. “Y’know, I don’t know how you’re functioning right now. Neither of us got much sleep.” 

 

Steve shrugs a shoulder, shaking his head and turning away from his brother. “Coffee’ll help.” 

 

Luke can practically feel him shutting down. “Leigh called this morning,” he blurts. 

 

That gets Steve’s attention. “What did she say?” There’s a bit of fear in his eyes, and Luke’s stomach clenches.

 

“She’s heading here after work,” he starts. Relief flashes across Steve’s face, but Luke presses on. “She told me about the headaches. And you not sleeping.” 

 

Shutting his eyes, Steve sighs heavily. “It’s not— Luke, it’s really not anything to worry about. I know last night looked bad, but it’s not usually like that. I’ve just been… stressed about my book.”

 

“Seriously?” Luke mutters, casting a disbelieving look Steve’s way.

 

“Yes,seriously! Even Leigh will tell you. My deadline’s coming up, and I’m a few chapters behind schedule,” Steve insists. Luke wants to shake him.

 

“God, do you  _ really _ expect me to believe that? I know what a panic attack looks like. I’ve been there before, so don’t try and feed me bullshit about your book and deadlines, because I  _ know  _ that’s not what’s bothering you. I  _ know _ you, Steve. You don’t… How many books have you written? Five? Writing doesn’t make you break down like that. It just doesn’t. So stop fucking lying about it. It’s bullshit, Steve! Something freaked you out last night. And it wasn’t your stupid book. So what was it?” He realizes he’s yelling about halfway through, and he has to make a conscious effort to keep his voice steady.

 

Steve’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, his arms crossed as he waits for Luke to finish. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just drop it,” he warns, but Luke isn’t having it.

 

“Is it the house?” Luke asks, his voice quiet.

 

“No!” Steve shouts, and it startles both of them. “No,” he repeats, quieter. He takes a deep breath. “I told you to drop it. I appreciate what you did for me last night; I really do. But I don’t want to talk about it.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.

 

Luke is quiet for a moment, just watching him. “Mom got migraines, didn’t she?” 

 

Nodding slightly, Steve picks up his bowl and moves towards the table. “We’re more likely to get them, as her kids. But this isn’t a migraine; it’s just a headache. There’s a big difference,” he concedes.

 

“What’s the difference?” Luke asks. He starts mechanically continuing breakfast, pouring their coffee into the mugs and adding creamer to his own. He takes them over to the table before going back for his own bowl of cereal. 

 

Steve takes a few moments to answer, eating a few bites of cereal and waiting for Luke to sit down. “Symptoms and extremity, mostly. Migraines can be debilitating. Not only is it painful, but you’re sensitive to light and sound, even smells and touch. You can get nauseous, or have blurred vision, or feel lightheaded,” he finally explains.

 

“Do you get them very often?” Luke pushes his cereal around the bowl with his spoon, waiting for Steve to answer.

 

“No. Thank god. But mom had them a lot. I just have headaches, mostly. Normal, run of the mill stuff.”

 

For a few minutes, silence settles over them, and Luke can tell that Steve is grateful for it. He almost doesn’t speak up again, just so he can keep the peace. Almost. “Do you… see things? When you have migraines?” 

 

Steve sighs, setting his mug down and leaning back in the chair. “Luke…”

 

“Mom saw things. She told Theo—“

 

“Dammit, Luke! I don’t want to talk about this!” Steve shouts, clenching his fists.

 

“So you do, then. See things. What do you see?” Luke prompts. His own hands are shaking slightly.

 

The chair scrapes against the floor loudly as Steve stands abruptly. “Thanks for breakfast.” 

 

He’s heading to the door, and Luke scrambles out of his seat to catch up with him. “Steve, stop. I’m sorry, okay? Don’t leave! I just want to help.”

 

“I’m dealing with it just fine on my own,” Steve asserts. His hand is on the doorknob, and Luke can feel panic starting to choke him.

 

“No, you’re not. And you don’t have to. You don’t have to be alone.”

 

Steve hesitates in the doorway, looking back at his younger brother with sad eyes. “I’ll see you later, Luke,” he says finally, and shuts the door in his face.

 

Immediately, Luke reaches for the doorknob, about to chase after him, but something makes him hesitate. He rushes back to his room and grabs for his phone. It rings for so long he almost hangs up, but at the last second, the other line picks up.

 

“Hello? Luke, I’m with a client; is everything alright?”

 

“Shirl, I need help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done! Thank you so much for your support so far. I’m so glad you’re liking the story! 
> 
> Sorry if Leigh’s call was a little clunky or weird; I’m just struggling to write for her since we didn’t get to know her very well during the show.
> 
> Luke and Steve have my favorite sibling dynamic, and they’re also my two favorite characters. I hope im not writing them too out of character!!
> 
> My upload schedule is probably going to be very irregular. It just sort of depends when I get motivation or ideas to write. I apologize, but please bear with me!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baseball & a change of clothes.

Steve gets all the way down the stairs and steps out of the apartment building before he realizes the situation he’s put himself in. He’s on the other side of town from his own house, he doesn’t have his wallet or his phone, and he’s still barefoot. “Shit,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. There’s no way he would be able to make it home, not without getting a ride from Luke.

 

Looking up at the sky, Steve lets out long, heavy sigh. He leaves his pride on the sidewalk as he trudges back into the apartment building and up to Luke’s door. He pauses in front of it, weighing his options one more time before he gives up and knocks.

 

As he waits for Luke, Steve looks around the hallway. It’s surprisingly empty, no one bustling around on their way to work. Turning back to the door, he makes a mental note of all the scuffs on the wood. He blinks against the weird, dark spots in his vision, like he’d been staring at a bright light. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the world start to shake, and dread pools in his stomach.

 

It’s then that Luke swings open the door, looking stunned. “Hey,” he greets awkwardly.

 

Steve clears his throat, trying to work through the speech he’d thought up on his way back. “Hey. I realized a little too late that I don’t have my wallet or my phone. Could you…” He starts, but he loses his voice the instant he looks over Luke’s shoulder. Behind him, in the back of the room, is their mom, limping toward them. Just like he’d seen that night, when he’d opened his eyes as his dad carried him out.

 

Steve suddenly feels like he might faint, and he grabs the door frame for balance.

 

“Steve! Are you okay?” Luke exclaims, grabbing Steve’s shoulder.

 

When Steve was six, his family moved to a small town in Indiana. It was a big difference from the busy city they’d just moved from, but Steve and Shirley adjusted fairly easily. Theo was just two, then, and Olivia was pregnant with the twins. Right away, Steve made friends with the boy who lived next door. They liked to play tag in the vacant lot behind their houses, and Olivia would watch them from the back porch of their home.

 

Sometimes, a couple older kids would come and play baseball in the lot. They wouldn’t let Steve and his friend play, saying they were too little, but it didn’t bother them for long. They would just go off and play their own games, on the other side of the lot.

 

The two would get so caught up in their games that they barely paid attention to their surroundings. It seemed they would only play for a couple minutes before it started getting dark, and they would have to head home.

 

One day, Steve got so caught up in their game of cops and robbers that he didn’t realize how close they were getting to the older boys. One moment, he was running from his friend, and the next, he was on the ground and his head was exploding in pain.

 

He could hear his friend screaming, and the older kids were freaking out, some of them running and others standing dumbfounded. Steve remembers sitting up slowly, the side of his face damp even though he hadn’t started crying yet. He remembers looking next to him and seeing a wooden bat with patches of red paint on it. He remembers his mom running up to him, and it was the sheer terror on her face that finally made him start to cry.

 

Steve doesn’t remember much about that summer; most of what he knows is just what was filled in for him. What he’ll never forget, though, is the feeling of that bat colliding with the side of his head.

 

Right now, leaning on the doorframe in front of Luke, he feels like that bat is slamming into the side of his face again, and again, and again. “I— I need to lay down,” he croaks out.

 

“Okay, yeah. Good idea. C’mon, I got you,” Luke assures, and he pulls Steve’s arm over his shoulders. “We got this.”  

 

Steve squeezes his eyes shut as they move toward the couch. He’s not sure if he’s closing them against the light, or if he’s avoiding looking at their mom. He wants so badly for her to be here; she’d know how to help, what to say. She always did. What he saw that night, what he’d see now if he opened his eyes, isn’t her. It’s the house being unfair. It always came back to that damn house.

 

“What do I do? How do I help?” Luke asks, making Steve cringe. Every word reverberates in his skull, and the pain is so bad he thinks his brain might be melting.

 

“Turn the lights off. And shut up,” he grits out. He can hear Luke scrambling to do just that, and then they’re finally in the dark.

 

He wants to thank his younger brother, but he can’t quite form the words. All his thoughts keep dissolving with the banging in his head, fizzling out until all he can think about is the pain and how sick he feels. It goes on like that for hours, until finally it starts to fade, and he can breathe again.

 

Cautiously, he cracks an eye open, and he sees that the ghost of his mom is no longer there. Luke, however, is sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch and waiting. Steve’s chest aches, and guilt chokes him up for a moment. This is the last thing he’d wanted Luke to see. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

 

Luke startles, whipping around to stare at his brother. ‘ _He must’ve been falling asleep_ ,’ Steve realizes, and feels a little worse for waking him up.

 

Shaking his head, Luke leans back against the couch. “Don’t be. You feeling better?”

 

Steve lets out a long breath. “Yeah. Just… tired,” he mumbles. It’s not a lie; there’s a bone-deep exhaustion that’s settling over him, leaving him shaky and weak. “Think I’m actually gonna go back to sleep.”

 

Luke nods, standing up and stretching. “Okay. I’ll head back to my room, then. I could use a nap, myself,” he admits with a small smile. He hesitates, then pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over Steve.

 

He’s not cold, but he appreciates the comfort anyway. “Will you… can you stop at my house and grab some things?” he asks. It’s not what he’d meant to say, but he sticks with it.

 

“Yeah, of course. What do you need?”

 

“Glasses. And my phone, so it can charge. Wallet, probably. Grab lunch for yourself.”

 

“Alright,” Luke murmurs, nodding to himself. He shifts from one foot to the other. “No problem. Anything else?”

 

Exhaling slowly, Steve shrugs a shoulder. “I dunno. Shoes?”

 

“Okay. Shoes, wallet, phone, glasses,” Luke repeats quietly. “Got it. I’ll be right back, Stevie.”

 

Steve gives a lazy thumbs up, and even that feels like a monumental effort. “Thanks,” he whispers. He’s not even sure if Luke hears him.

 

A few moments later, the door clicks shut, and Steve lets himself finally drift off into sleep.

 

————

 

Hill House looks exactly the way he remembers it from his childhood. There’s no decay or overgrowth. Spray-paint crosses still mark the walls, warm light fills the building, and his dad’s toolbox is sitting at the bottom of the grand staircase. Somehow, it seems that the house has traveled back in time; at the very least, it’s a complete opposite from the last time he’d been there.

 

He thinks about Nell, walking past them in the red room and talking about how out of place time could be. Her sentences were jumbled and nonsensical until Shirley asked the right question, and all of a sudden things made sense. After all he’d seen that night, he can believe that Hill House can exist outside of time, too.

 

Footsteps echo through the halls until they reach the stairs, and Steve watches as a six-year old Luke races down them. “If Shirley asks, you haven’t seen me! It was an accident, I swear!” he cries as he rushes past, too fast for Steve to formulate a response.

 

A few moments later, Shirley runs down the steps, but she pauses when she sees Steve. “Where’s Luke?” she demands, fuming at her older brother.

 

“Have you tried the treehouse?” Steve retorts, fighting a smile.

 

Shirley rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Steve! I’ll find him on my own,” she exclaims, and promptly storms off in the wrong direction.

 

Steve lets out a quiet laugh, even though his chest aches because it can’t be real. They’d all grown up, and the house was empty, starving. He swore he’d make sure of that, and he intends to keep that promise.

 

A gentle hand touches his shoulder, and before he even turns his head, he knows who it will be.

 

“Oh, Stevie. I’m so sorry. You’ve had such a rough day,” Olivia murmurs. Reaching up and brushing his bangs out of his face, she gives a small, comforting smile. “Why don’t you come up to the reading room with me? I’ll read something to you, just like I used to.”

 

Letting out a ragged breath, Steve just shakes his head slightly. “Mom…”

 

Olivia takes his hand, gently pulling him along, and Steve can't stop himself from following after. “I’ll even let you pick the book,” she promises as they head up the stairs.

 

The lump forming in his throat makes it hard to swallow. “Mom, I don’t want to go in your reading room. It’s not... Let’s read in the living room instead,” he bargains. Maybe if he keeps her out of that room, things will be different.

 

“Don’t be silly, my love. The books are in the reading room.” She turns her warm smile on him, and his heart breaks with how much he’d missed it.

 

She walks him up the stairs, and they start to head down the hallway before he tries again. “Just let me stop in my room; I think I have something in there we can read.” He forces himself to let go of his mom’s hand, taking a step back and motioning to the bedrooms. He doesn’t wait for his mom to respond, unsure if he’ll be able to deny her again.

 

Sure enough, there’s a half-finished book on his bedside table. A mystery, if he remembers correctly, and one he’d never had the chance to finish. He picks up the book and just holds it for a moment, taking a moment to steady himself before he turns around and faces his mom again.

 

He couldn’t have prepared himself for what stood in the doorway— for _who_ stood in the doorway. There was Nell, her neck horrible and bent and her eyes clouded. The book drops from his hands, and he stumbles backward.

 

“Why didn’t you save me?” she cries, and Steve’s legs give out as she starts moving toward him. “Why did you have to say such mean things?”

 

“I— I— I’m sorry, Nellie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

 

She’s in his face, suddenly, grabbing his shirt, and she’s so _cold_ he can feel rigid air radiating off her. “Why didn’t you save me?!”

 

Steve wakes up with a jolt, his heart slamming against his ribcage as he takes in his surroundings. He’s still on Luke’s couch, tangled in the spare blanket and in the dark. If he listens closely enough, he can hear the TV playing in the bedroom, and cars passing by on the street outside. He presses his hand to his chest and slowly sits up, trying to catch his breath.

 

Warm tears slip down his cheeks, and he thinks of Nell as his shaking hands wipe them away. ‘ _I loved you completely. And you loved me the same. The rest is confetti.’_

 

It's those words that finally make breathing a little easier, even if they’re just a memory now. Losing Nell is something he’ll never get over, something none of them ever could. Her absence, like his mother’s, is a gaping hole in his chest that will never leave; he just has to learn to live with it, somehow. Unlike his mom, though, he’d had the chance to say goodbye to his baby sister, and her words always gave him some comfort. In the end, she had forgiven him, even if he doesn’t think he deserved it.

 

His phone lights up on the table beside the couch, and it’s that light that finally draws him to the present. He’s been asleep long enough for the “80% charged” notification to pop up, so he unplugs it from the wall and scrolls through his other notifications. Two missed calls from Shirley, of course, and texts from Theo and Leigh.

 

He checks Leigh’s message first, and sees that she’d messaged him around noon asking how he was doing. It’s three o’clock now, so he figures he owes her an explanation. _“I’m fine. Had a migraine. See you after work?_ ”

 

Once the text sends, he taps on Theo’s message. “ _Shirl’s worried. You better not do anything stupid.”_

 

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes, quickly sending a response to her, too. _“I’m fine. I’m with Luke.”_

 

Almost instantly, he gets a reply. _“I know.”_

 

Frowning, Steve’s thumbs hover over the keyboard. He’s about to ask how she knows, but he realizes Luke had probably called Shirley back the night before. With a sigh, he sets his phone back down and scrubs at his face. He’s not surprised that his siblings are talking about him, given that they’re worried, but it’s still a bit frustrating. He’d spent most of his life trying to keep his problems to himself, and he’d really prefer that it stay that way.

 

His foot nudges something soft on the floor as he stretches, and he looks down to see a bag of clothes tipped over. It seems Luke grabbed an outfit for him when he’d stopped at the house; the realization makes a fresh wave of gratitude rush through him. He might still feel like shit, but he has a change of clothes, and that’s a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, the ending of this one is pretty rough, sorry about that. 
> 
> Also, migraines are hard to describe, even when you’ve had them yourself.
> 
> In the next chapter: Leigh arrives


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pasta & an argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for all the kind comments and kudos!! Your support means so much to me <3

* * *

As he sets the table, Luke tries to think of a way to tell his brother. A way to phrase things so that he won’t get angry or run off. He supposes the anger is inevitable; Steve was angry earlier when he wouldn’t stop asking questions. At this point, anger is almost a guarantee because he’s done the opposite of leaving it alone; he’s called their sisters. 

 

Not that he regrets it; just thinking about his brother stumbling into the apartment, pale and shaking, reminds him that he’s made the right decision. He’d felt so helpless, sitting there while Steve suffered and knowing there was nothing he could do about it. Luke knows he can’t help Steve all on his own; he wouldn’t know where to start, as much as he hates to admit it. Alone, Luke can’t fix it, but with his sisters backing him up, things might work out.

 

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, Steve steps into the kitchen, shoving his phone in his back pocket and forcing a small smile. “Thank god for Postmates, right? I ordered from that Italian place a few blocks back. Hope that’s okay,” he says.

 

Luke lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding in. “Yeah, sure. Sounds great.” Then it’s his turn to force a smile, small and brief though it is. He wonders when Steve got so good at pretending.

 

Raising an eyebrow, Steve stares at Luke for a moment before he seems to deflate. “Look, Luke, I... I’m sorry if I scared you earlier. Usually I get more of a warning before a migraine hits like that.” He takes his glasses off his face, folding them and unfolding them in his hands.

 

“Don’t be,” Luke immediately replies, echoing his words from earlier. “You don’t have any reason to be. Sorry I couldn’t help more.” He shrugs, pulling out a chair and sitting down heavily. 

 

Steve just shakes his head. “You did help. More than you know. You even went and got my stuff for me. You didn’t have to do any of that. And I really do appreciate it.” His words are sincere, as is the tiny smile on his face.

 

Scoffing, Luke looks down at the table and fidgets with his sleeves. “Yes, I did. You’re my brother,” he reasons, and it’s as simple as that. Steve has always looked out for Luke, has looked out for all of them. He wasn’t always the best at it, but he at least tried. Things have hardly been simple or easy for them, and both men are vividly aware of this fact. But even when things were rough, when they were angry or hurt or not talking, they loved each other. The thought of letting Steve suffer alone just isn’t something that occurs to him.

 

The doorbell rings, and Steve slides his glasses back onto his face. “I’ll get it.” 

 

Luke sighs as he makes himself stand up again, and he watches as Steve opens the door and ushers in a very pregnant Leigh. She seems to fret over him for a moment before she turns to Luke, enveloping him in a hug that takes him by surprise. 

 

“Thank you so much for looking after him. He can be so stubborn,” she says. Over her shoulder, he can see Steve awkwardly rubbing his neck. 

 

After a moment of hesitation, Luke loosely hugs her back, mostly because he’s afraid to hug her too tightly. “You’re telling me.” He smirks at the offended look Steve shoots his way. “How have you been?”

 

Amusement dances in Leigh’s eyes as she pulls away. “Pregnant,” she replies smartly. 

 

Luke huffs out a laugh, his smile growing slightly when he catches the affectionate look Steve gives her. “Fair enough.”

 

She winks at him before she links hands with Steve, pulling him along with her as she waddles to the couch. “It’s my last week of work before I go on leave; that’s why I didn’t want to miss today,” she explains once settled in. She leans toward Luke conspiratorially. “I keep telling him he should see a doctor about the migraines. Just to be sure it’s nothing serious.”

 

“I asked our general practitioner about it at my last checkup, Leigh. It’s just stress,” Steve protests. He looks between his wife and his brother and lets out a sigh, taking his glasses off as he does. He folds them carefully, letting them hang on his collar. “Can we talk about this another time? I’m too worn out to have this conversation.”

 

The resigned way he says it actually manages to make Luke feel a little guilty. Steve  _ does _ look exhausted, even after sleeping for most of the day. Without his glasses to hide them, the dark circles under his eyes are more prominent. When he’d gone to answer the door for Leigh, his usual purposeful stride was replaced by a sluggish walk. The shirt he’s wearing under his sweater is half-tucked in, half hanging out. Luke never realized how well put-together his brother has always been until seeing him as the mess he is now. 

 

Luke swallows nervously, looking down at his hands. “Um,” he mutters eloquently. He can feel the couple’s eyes on him, and his jaw clenches slightly as he tries to form words.  _ ‘Now is a good time to tell him. Just say it,’ _ he thinks. “So what are you writing about, anyway? In your new book.”  _ Shit. _ He was always terrible at pep-talks. 

 

“It’s… it’s a mystery novel,” Steve explains after a moment of hesitation. He scratches the back of his neck and looks away for a moment. “I don’t really have much planned yet.” 

 

Leigh reaches for his hand and holds it in both of hers. “Way to really sell it, hon,” she teases, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Mr. Famous Author. Use your words.” 

 

Then it’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes, but Luke can see some of the tension in his shoulders fading as he does. “The plot sounds pretty generic at this point, to be honest. I don’t know. I’m really not sure how well it will go over. It’s pretty different from what I’ve written before,” he explains.

 

Even though he shrugs his shoulders and tries to brush it off, Luke can tell that it’s been bothering him. He’s reminded of how much Steve had struggled when he’d first started writing, when he was still trying to publish the historical fiction he loved so much. It surprises him that Steve would give up telling ghost stories, considering how much money they made and how quickly he could churn them out. He opens his mouth and closes it, frowning when he realizes he’s not really sure what to say. 

 

Knocking at the door breaks the awkward silence, and Luke is quick to volunteer. “That’s the food. I’ll get it.”

 

He glances at the clock on his way to the door, and his stomach drops. In two hours, the plane is scheduled to land.  _ Shit. _

 

—————

 

Anxiety itches at Luke’s skin, the words sitting heavily on his chest as he tries to eat. Leigh and Steve are talking, but he can't focus on what they’re saying, too caught up in his own head. His leg bounces up and down impatiently, words crawling up his throat and disintegrating the moment they touch his tongue. A half hour into dinner, it finally becomes too much. “Do you want to go to the airport with me? In… like an hour and a half?” he blurts.

 

He’s met with two equally stunned expressions. “The airport?” Leigh asks. “That’s kind of last minute. Are you going somewhere?”

 

“No,” Luke starts, but the words get caught in his throat again. He can feel Steve’s eyes boring into him, so he keeps his own gaze firmly on his food as he pushes noodles around his plate. “I need to pick up Theo and Shirl.”

 

“What? I didn’t know they were coming into town,” Leigh exclaims. Steve is unbearably silent.

 

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Luke clears his throat. “Uh, it’s last minute. I called Shirl this morning.”

 

Steve groans. “You didn’t.”

 

Looking up from his plate, Luke sees his brother holding his glasses in one hand and pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. “Arrival time’s at nine o’clock.”

 

“Luke, they’re  _ busy. _ You can’t just— call them and disrupt their lives over nothing!” Steve criticizes.

 

“It’s not  _ nothing _ ,” Luke fumes. He glares at Steve. “Shirl  _ told  _ me to call her if something was wrong. Clearly, you don’t want to tell me anything, so I called her.”

 

“I’m not telling you anything because there’s nothing to say!” 

 

Leigh puts a gentle hand on Steve’s arm. “Hon, he’s just worried about you. Maybe it will do you some good to see them,” she murmurs.

 

Huffing, Steve shakes his head. “It’s a waste of their time. Six hour flight over some headaches,” he grumbles.

 

“Bullshit,” Luke snaps. He’s shaking slightly, fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Just because you lie and say it’s fine doesn’t mean anything. It’s bullshit, and it might fly with Leigh, but not with me. I’m not gonna just sit here and do nothing!”

 

“Hey—“ Leigh starts, but Steve cuts her off.

 

“Really? You’re gonna bring Leigh into this? Like you’re an expert on relationships.” Both he and Luke freeze for a moment at the words.

 

“Steven!” Leigh hisses.

 

“Fuck.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

 

Luke’s ears are ringing. “Why do you have to be such an asshole all the time?! I’m trying to help you!” he shouts.

 

Instantly, Steve is back on the defensive. “I didn’t ask for your fucking help!” 

 

“Will you stop arguing for  _ one fucking second _ ?!” Leigh shouts, stunning both men into silence. She takes a deep breath. “Luke, I would appreciate it if you didn’t make assumptions about how I feel about my own  _ husband.  _ You don’t know the extent of my worry and thoughts any more than I do yours.” She levels him with a look that’s enough to make his cheeks burn with shame. 

 

He knows she’s right; it was unfair of him to say anything when he’d only asked her about it once. Familial weirdness aside, she probably had the most insight on Steve’s well-being; she spent the most time with him. At the end of the day, it’s Leigh that his brother goes home to, Leigh who’s probably there for more of his ups and downs than anyone else. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. 

 

Leigh nods curtly before she rounds on her husband, who already looks ashamed despite the fact that she hasn’t said anything yet. “Steve, you can’t push people away because they worry about you. It doesn’t work like that. Your brother has a point; you haven’t been right the last few months.” 

 

Steve sighs, looking at her pleadingly. “Leigh…” he starts, but she just shakes her head.

 

“Nope. You’re going to the airport with Luke. Tell your sisters that they can stay with us if they want.”

 

Reluctantly, Steve nods, although he grumbles something under his breath that Luke can’t hear from across the table.

 

Whatever it is, Leigh picks up on it, and she crosses her arms with a sigh. “Honey, you can’t keep pretending nothing is wrong. Being with your siblings will be good for you. I know it.” Her voice is firm, leaving no room for any argument. Even Steve, one of the most argumentative people Luke knows, doesn’t challenge her— at least, not out loud.

 

Luke has never appreciated his sister-in-law more than in that moment. 

 

Slowly, she stands up, kissing Steve’s forehead. “Alright, boys. I need a ride home. I need a nap after all of that.” 

 

At the door, Luke hugs her tightly. “Thanks,” he whispers. He can’t find the words to express just how grateful he is; they’re all still caught in his throat, choking him up slightly. 

 

Smiling warmly, Leigh shakes her head. “Make sure his shirt’s tucked in before you get to the airport, and I’ll forgive you for doubting me.” With that, she’s out the door, but Steve lingers for a moment.

 

“See you in a bit?” Luke says hesitantly.

 

Steve shifts on his feet and nods. “Yeah. See you in a bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the formatting gets weird on these. I copy them from a word document, and Archive doesn’t adjust well to that. One day, I’ll stop being lazy and fix it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bear hugs & headlights

Theo can feel the anxiety emanating off of Luke before she even touches him. As he wraps her in a hug and mumbles a greeting, she’s almost overwhelmed with it; a fleeting image of Steve struggling to breathe melts into an image of him practically collapsing in a doorway. She pulls away quickly, but Luke doesn’t seem too offended. He just meets her alarmed gaze with his own, grim look.

 

Before Steve can see her fear, she schools her expression into a more neutral one. She glances over at him to see that Shirley has already wrapped him in a firm hug, which seems to confuse him more than anything else. Theo doesn’t blame him for being surprised.

 

The two oldest siblings’ relationship is not as strained as it used to be, but it’s still a little awkward, both siblings feeling as if they’re walking on unsteady ground. Shirley does her best to forgive him for publishing the book, but it’s difficult to heal from that sort of betrayal, even with Steve’s apologies and explanations. To make matters worse, Steve still refuses to tell his siblings what happened at Hill House with his dad; he always keeps things vague, much like Hugh had when they were kids. 

 

Still, Shirley can’t stand the possibility of losing him, too. After all, there are four of them left, a number that is hopeful and hollow in one fell swoop. The number is a measurement of their resilience and, in the same vein, their loss. Theo understands the terror that lead Shirley to fly across the country. It is a terror that is also her own, tightly coiled in her chest as she recalls what Luke showed her.

 

When Theo finally gets the chance to greet her older brother, she forgoes her own usual limitations with him and pulls him into a hug. She  _ needs  _ to confirm what she saw, or even better, get a reasonable explanation for it. One that makes the worry die down. Unfortunately, she gets neither. Even when she actively tries to sense how he’s feeling, all she gets is a brick wall. In the end, it’s the nature of the hug itself that ends up giving her an answer. 

 

For as long as she can remember, Steve has been a hugger. His hugs were always warm and protective, even when his siblings were older and didn’t need protecting anymore. Nell used to say that he gave the best bear hugs. The hug Theo receives in the airport, however, is nothing like the hugs she remembers. It’s stiff and uncomfortable, and he pulls away fairly quickly.

 

For the first time, Theo misses his bear hugs.

 

“I can’t be in here anymore. Fluorescents’re fucking killing me,” Steve mutters. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns away from them and heads to the door.

 

Shirley opens her mouth to protest, but Luke shakes his head. Surprisingly, she takes the warning as it is and closes her mouth. 

 

“He had a migraine earlier. I guess the bright light still sucks,” he explains quietly and shrugs a shoulder. 

 

“Is that what I saw when I hugged you? Since when does Steve get migraines?” Theo demands. It comes out more rude than she intended it to, but she’s still reeling a little. Strong emotions and feelings always throw her off momentarily, but it’s harder when her own emotions are mixed in.

 

Frowning, Luke looks down at his shoes. “Dunno. From what Leigh said, maybe a few months?” he guesses. He lets out a harsh breath and shakes his head. “It was… it was really bad. He never said anything about them before. I didn’t… I didn’t know.” 

 

He sounds so lost, and Theo desperately wants to reach out and reassure him. She wants to wrap him in another hug and tell him everything will be okay, but she’s too damn  _ scared  _ to move. Scared to feel her little brother’s pain on top of her own, scared because she doesn’t know enough to honestly tell him things  _ will _ turn out alright.

 

In the same instant that Theo hesitates, Shirley has her arms around him. “It’s alright, Luke. We’ll figure it out,” she promises, and she’s so damn  _ sure _ that it steadies Theo, too. “Come on, let’s get a move on before he leaves without us.”

 

————

 

As soon as he steps out of the brightly-lit airport, Steve feels instant relief. The headache that had been building behind his eyes starts to fade, and he takes a deep breath of fresh air. In the relative silence of the parking lot, he finally feels like he can think properly. For the first time since that morning, his brain is actually working; he relishes in the feeling as he walks to Luke’s car. The burst of clarity is a lifeline that he clings to after being stuck under the muck and confusion of exhaustion.

 

Thinking, however, means that he processes everything that’s happened that day. He’d been an asshole to Luke, even after promising he was going to be  _ better.  _ His brother was only trying to help, and he’d lashed out. Worse, he’s  _ still _ being an asshole. Theo and Shirley flew six hours to check on him, and he couldn’t even properly greet them. All he’d been able to muster was a clipped ‘hello’ before he’d run off. 

 

He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs heavily. He’s going to have to think of some way to make it up to them all, and it can’t just be another apology. By now, he’s sure his family is sick of his apologies. 

 

“ _ You’re always sorry _ ,” someone whispers. 

 

Steve’s head whips up, swiveling around wildly as he tries to find the source, but no one is nearby. In fact, the only other people in the parking lot that he can see are out of earshot entirely. Still, he feels as if someone is staring at him; it’s making his skin crawl. Scrubbing his hands roughly over his arms, he forces out a shaky breath and resumes his walk to Luke’s car, more purposefully this time.

 

_ ‘Jesus,’ _ he thinks.  _ ‘I really am losing it.’  _ His stomach churns uneasily, even as he climbs into the backseat of his brother’s car. The only positive is that his siblings hadn’t been there to see it. He’s not sure how he’d explain it to them if they did; honestly, he’s not sure they’d even want to hear about it. 

 

“Some things can’t be spoken,” he mutters to the empty air around him. It’s both a lament and the repetition of a promise. If he closes his eyes, he can feel his dad’s hand on his shoulder, can see that night vividly in his mind’s eye. The horrible truth, seared into his chest.

 

Hugh spent most of their lives trying to protect them from it. They’d hated him for it, but Steve knows why he did it, now. The eldest child finally got the answers he’d craved for so long, that he’d wasted so much time trying to find on his own. Now, the horrible truth was his, and his alone. No matter how much it weighed on him, he wouldn’t say a word. Because some things just can’t be spoken.

 

Sitting in the backseat of his baby brother’s car, waiting for his remaining siblings (And isn’t that just a kick in the gut?), Steve knows he has to pull himself together. He has to be strong, or at least put up a front. ‘ _ Just like always,’ _ he thinks, with a twinge of bitterness. Somehow, he has to reassure all of them that he’s fine. 

 

It’s not exactly lying; most of the time, he  _ is _ fine. Most of the time, he can go about his life like he’s a normal person—someone who hasn’t dealt with all the shit his family has endured. Someone who isn’t a Crain. It’s only on occasion that he has migraines, or thinks he hears something, or sees something he can’t explain. Luke just caught him at a bad time, that’s all.

 

Steve’s head throbs angrily, and as he rubs at his temple a wild thought crosses his mind:  _ not even he can handle his own bullshit anymore. _ The notion elicits a sharp burst of laughter, bitter and hollow in the confines of the empty car. _ A bad time, indeed. _

 

Ten minutes later, his siblings finally make it out to the car, luggage in tow. Even though his sisters didn’t bring much, he gets out to help them load it into the trunk anyway. “You can stay at my house if you need,” he offers, giving a small smile. It almost feels normal. 

 

“Did Leigh tell you to ask?” Shirley raises an eyebrow at him, but there’s a teasing smile on her lips.

 

Hands in his pockets, Steve fights a smile and shrugs. “Maybe. The offer still stands.”

 

Theo and Shirley exchange a look. There’s a familiarity there that Steve envies; how long has it been since he’s been able to converse his siblings with just a look? Too long. Not since they were children. The look only lasts about a second, but it seems to communicate enough. Without a word, Theo climbs into the backseat and Shirley shuts the trunk. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks, Steve,” Shirley decides.

 

————

 

Steve has always loved a long, quiet drive. There’s something about the movement of the car combined with the silence and the scenery that has always relaxed him, even when he was a child. It’s part of the reason he drives so much for work; it gives him time to sort through his thoughts and find a moment of peace.

 

He was hoping the drive from the airport would be like that; after the day he’d had, a moment to think and breathe is sorely needed. Unfortunately, Shirley has never shared that sentiment. For the first portion of the drive, she tries focusing the conversation on him, asking questions and prompting him to talk. After a little while, though, she gets tired of his short answers and focuses on Luke instead. 

 

This is a compromise Steve is happy with—it’s not total silence, but tuning them out is something he can manage. Theo chimes in after a few minutes, leaving the eldest to be the only silent observer. To his surprise, Steve finds himself comforted by the background noise of their voices. His siblings, talking and joking like when they were young; if Steve closes his eyes, he can imagine his parents, sitting in the front seat, warm and bright and loving, and Nell’s delighted giggles.

 

The car pulls up at a red light, and Steve’s gaze wanders away from the side of the road, glancing at the crosswalk in front of them. Over Shirley’s shoulder, he sees them: His mom, smiling that special smile she reserved for him and his siblings, the one that always made him feel safe and loved. Beside her stands his dad, youthful and strong, but avoiding his gaze. Hugh only has eyes for Olivia.

 

Blinking hard, Steve watches the specters— ‘ _ no, that isn’t the word, they’re too solid _ ,’ his brain corrects. His mom beckons to him, and for a wild moment he considers climbing out of the car and following her. In the second of hesitation, Hugh tears his gaze from Olivia and looks at Steve for the first time. He shakes his head slightly, and it’s at that moment that the light turns green.

 

Panic seizes him as the car rolls forward, tensing every muscle in his body as the car drives right through their parents. There’s no impact; of course there isn’t. Hugh and Olivia were never there, they could never be, and Steve is losing his mind. ‘ _ Or worse, it’s the house.’  _ At that thought, all his breath leaves him in one, ragged gasp, and the tips of his fingers are reduced to static. 

 

Taking a slow, shaky breath, Steve flexes his fingers and reminds himself that he’s supposed to be putting on a brave face. So far, he’s been doing a terrible job, a point that is illustrated by the worried looks he can practically feel burning into him. Having a panic attack now is hardly going to help his case. “Sorry,” he whispers. He clears his throat, taking another deep breath before he tries again. “I’m fine. Just had a bad reaction to some bright headlights. Hurt my head. But it passed.”

 

Luke seems to accept it, although his fingers clench the steering wheel a little tighter. “Sorry,” he mumbles, as if it’s somehow his fault. 

 

Steve just shakes his head, trying to grasp at all the words flying around his head. “Don’t be,” he finally settles on, a knowing repetition. 

 

In the rearview mirror, he glimpses sisters’ faces, and he knows instantly that they don’t buy his excuse for a second. Later, he’ll get an earful, he’s sure. For now, though, he just focuses on getting through the rest of the ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up! I’ve had a rough week mentally, so it’s been a fight to get the motivation to write. Thanks so much for all your support and comments; it really means a lot and definitely helps with motivation! Hopefully, my depression will ease up a bit in the coming weeks. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of love I’ve gotten for this fic so far! Thank you so, so much for every comment and kudos. They mean a lot to me!

As Shirley quietly steps out of the guest room, the familiar scent of coffee permeates the air. Sleepily, she wanders toward the kitchen, wrapping her arms around herself to try and combat the cold.

 

Coffee always reminds her of her dad, of stumbling into the kitchen on early mornings to find him at the table, either waiting for his coffee to brew or already sipping it. He always gave a warm smile and a soft greeting before inviting her to sit with him, at least until the others woke up. Those quiet moments in the morning meant more to her than Hugh probably knew; it saddens her now to think that she’ll never have the chance to tell him. All those years wasted icing him out, years she never thanked him for being her dad.

 

It seems ridiculous now, that she’d taken him and Nellie for granted— that she’d taken _any_ of her family for granted. To be fair, most people did until it was too late, but then again, Shirley knew better than anyone just how unexpected loss can be. After Olivia passed, they all knew.

 

Taking a deep breath, Shirley shakes off her darker thoughts and lets the smell of coffee bring back happier ones. As she steps into the kitchen to find the source of the smell, she’s surprised to see her older brother sitting at the table. She had expected it to be Leigh, or even Theo. Steve? Steve didn’t like coffee. Yet here he is, grimacing as he sips a steaming mug of it.

 

“Hey,” she greets, cursing the awkward stilt of her voice. She feels out of place as she steps into the room, arms still folded over her chest.

 

Steve’s eyes flicker over to her, as if he’s just as surprised to see her. “Morning. Coffee’s uh. There’s coffee,” he mumbles, motioning toward the machine on the counter.

 

Fighting a smile, Shirley nods and steps toward the counter. At least she isn’t the only one feeling a little awkward. After a moment of hesitation, she pulls a mug off the rack on the wall and pours herself a cup. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early,” she admits, trying her best to keep the conversation going. Last night, he’d been so short with her that even her stubborn nature couldn’t fight it. Today, she hopes he’ll be more open; it hurts to be shut out, even if it’s hypocritical of her to think.

 

“Well, I slept a lot yesterday.” Steve shrugs, staring at the mug in his hands. He seems dazed, a little, but Shirley writes it off as morning fatigue.

 

Pulling out a chair, she settles across the table from her older brother. Her fingers wrap around the mug of coffee, absorbing as much warmth as she can from it. “How long have you been having migraines?” she asks. She figures it’s better to cut to the chase rather than beat around the bush.

 

Steve lets out a long sigh, but he doesn’t seem surprised by her blunt question. “A while. The first when I was twenty-two, maybe? It used to be pretty rare that I’d get one.” He brings his own mug to his lips and takes a long drink of coffee, and Shirley can’t quite tell if he’s grimacing at the taste of the liquid or his words.

 

“How frequent are they now?” Her voice is quiet, not accusatory or sharp. She’s trying very hard to keep it that way, to keep this fragile truce intact. It’s difficult to fight the irritation digging under her skin. Frustration toward Steve for keeping so much in, even now, and frustration toward the distance between them.

 

Fingers tap on the table, deafening in the stillness of the morning. It’s a habit that Steve’s had since he was a child, and it has always annoyed Shirley. For once, she doesn’t comment, just waiting for his answer.

“Once or twice a week. I’ve talked to my doctor about it. Mentioned mom’s history of them. He said it’s nothing to worry about,” Steve murmurs. He glances at Shirley, rubbing the back of his neck. “They look worse than they are.”

 

The moment he says it, Shirley knows it’s a lie. She’s never had one, herself, but she remembers how much they’d affected her mother. As a teenager, she’d done research on them in a desperate attempt to understand and connect with the woman she missed so much. Still, Steve sits before her, lying through his teeth. Sighing heavily, Shirley lifts the mug to her lips, taking a sip of the coffee and forcing herself to swallow the harsh words she wants to say. “You really scared Luke,” she settles on instead.

 

Sucking in a deep breath, Steve nods his head. “I didn’t mean to… for him to…” He sighs, tapping his fingers on the table again. “The migraine hit me really fast. I wasn’t… expecting it. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have walked back up to his door.”

 

Shirley just stares at him for a moment, horror and fury hitting her in waves, until the fragile dam she’d built crumbles. “What, so you’d rather suffer alone on a street than let someone help you?”

 

Scoffing, Steve leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Cmon, Shirl. That’s a little dramatic.”

 

“Is it?” she challenges, raising an eyebrow and staring him down. Daring him to lie to her again.

 

“Yes, it is,” Steve insists, rolling his eyes. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful. Luke— he really helped me, and I do appreciate that. I would just _prefer_ that I didn’t scare the shit out of him, especially since he ended up dragging you and Theo into it.”

 

That sends Shirley reeling. “Really, Steve?” She can’t help the hurt that flares up, familiar and angry. How could he say that after they’d all been trying so hard? How could he act like he didn’t want them around?

 

Cringing, Steve puts a hand up. “No, stop. I didn’t mean it like that. Jesus.” He scrubs at his face, and Shirley bites her tongue, waiting for him to elaborate. After a few moments, he tries again. “I know Luke means well. I just think that he got a little too spooked by my migraine and jumped the gun calling you. It’s— it’s a waste of your time, coming all the way to California over one—“

 

“Steve,” Shirley interjects, and it’s enough for her brother to stutter to a stop, at least temporarily. “He didn’t call me because of your migraine.”

 

Blinking, Steve stares back at her. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “What? I… what? Then why did he call you?”

 

Shirley is quiet for a moment, taking another drink of her coffee as she formulates a response. She takes a deep breath, knowing what she’s going to admit won’t be easy; being vulnerable is never easy. “I had a dream about you a couple nights ago. I don’t really remember much of it; I never really remember those dreams much. But it freaked me out, so I called Luke. Told him to check in on you.”

 

“Right. He told me about that,” Steve mutters. He reaches up for his glasses and frowns when he realizes they’re not there, letting his hand fall back to his lap awkwardly.

 

Shifting her gaze to her coffee, Shirley presses on as if he hadn’t talked at all. “He called me the next morning, after you got into an argument. It wasn’t just the migraine that scared him, Steve. He found you on the street, in the middle of the night, and you wouldn’t respond to him at first. That would scare anyone, even without our past. Plus… he says you’re seeing things, too.”

 

Steve groans, putting his face in his hands. “Shirl, I _really_ don’t want to talk about this.”

 

“You don’t have a choice. I won’t let you deny this like you do everything else. None of us will. You don’t get to—“ Shirley starts, but Steve is just shaking his head.

 

“Don’t,” he mutters. “I’m not talking about this with you.” It sounds like a warning, but Shirley doesn’t feel like walking on eggshells.

 

“It’s not going to go away if you ignore it! Haven’t you learned by now that’s not how things work? I hate to break it to you, Steve, but it’s just going to fester and grow into something worse, and you _know_ where that road ends.”

 

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Shirl. Stop! I’m not gonna talk about it! Especially not with _you_!” Steve snaps, slamming his hand on the table.

 

Silence fills the room, and all Shirley can do for a few moments is stare. “What the hell does that mean?!” she finally manages. She’s not sure if it’s anger or hurt that’s making her voice shake.

 

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “You don’t give a shit. You just wanna wrap a bow on it and say you tried your best.”

 

His words feel like venom, burning through her, making her breath catch in her throat. “What the fuck—“

 

Avoiding her gaze, Steve taps his fingers on the table as he interrupts her again. “You know how I know you don’t care? Because I’ve tried to talk to you about it before. I’ve tried, and every single fucking time, you shut me out. You didn’t want to listen, and it’s fine. It’s fine, I get it. I’m the oldest, I handle my own shit. It’s my _job,_ right? Just don’t come here and yell at me about shutting people out. I can handle this on my own. I always have.”

 

With that, he stands up and walks out of the room, leaving Shirley stunned. A few years ago, she would’ve just let him leave, packed up her bags, and flown straight back home with Theo. Now, her stomach churns uneasily and she scrambles to her feet, following after him. She grabs his arm, holding tighter as he tries to yank it out of her grasp. “I’m sorry!” she blurts, and Steve finally wrenches his arm out of her hand.

 

He stares at her for a moment, breathing heavily and still looking like he wants to bolt. Shirley’s half tempted to do the same. They’re a couple of deer staring into headlights, praying that there won’t be a collision, something they can’t go back from.

 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, softer this time, and feels tears pricking at her eyes. “I didn’t— I’m sorry I didn’t listen. But I’m trying to be better. You _know_ that. You of all people should understand that.”

 

Steve flinches, turning his back on her and shaking his head. “Yeah. Thanks.”

 

Panic shoots up Shirley’s spine as she sees him building walls, bricking himself in, all alone. Things are falling apart so quickly, moments slipping through her fingers like sand. She reaches out and grabs his arm, desperately trying to make him stay. “Steve. I’m _sorry._ I shut you out, and that wasn’t right. So I’m sorry. I’m trying to listen now, okay? I’m worried about you. We all are.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Steve looks up at the ceiling for a moment before pulling out of Shirley’s grip again. He’s silent, but he stays there, standing in front of Shirley, instead of walking away. “Do you—“ he starts, but he cuts himself off. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns back to his sister and tries again. “Okay. I’m sorry I said you don’t care. I’m not really angry at you. Just… I’m just trying to deal with things, and it’s hard. I’m not used to everyone wanting to know my business. Not anymore, at least.” He smiles, wistful and bitter, and looks at his feet.

 

Chest aching, Shirley reaches out again, but this time when she grabs him, it’s gentle, supportive. “Well, get used to it,” she jokes. She bites her lip. “I know it’s hard. But we have to stop shutting the world out. Not even just you; I’m just as guilty, and god knows Theo’s done the same. But… We’re trying to be better, right? It’s easier when you let other people help. It really is.”

 

Steve lets out a long breath, shaking his head slightly. He’s still avoiding Shirley’s gaze, and there’s something heavy and familiar in the tenseness of his shoulders, in the stuttering rise and fall of his chest. “I am trying. You gotta believe I am. I… some things can’t be told,” he says, and something hangs in the air between them, just out of Shirley’s reach.

 

“Try anyway.” The words are soft, but insistent. It’s the same tone she uses in quiet moments with her children, the one her own mother had used when Shirley needed to confide in her.

 

He meets her gaze then, finally, and the space between them no longer feels so daunting, so unfixable. “I’ll need a stiff drink first. Bit early in the day for that.” An olive branch, a compromise, held in the air between them.

 

“Tonight, then.” An agreement, a promise.

 

Steve lets out a long breath and gives a short nod. “Tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter!! It’s been a rough week, and I’m hoping this chapter didn’t come out too clunky and out of character. 
> 
> Again, sorry for any mistakes and for spacing! One of these days I’ll get around to properly reconciling my document’s format with ao3’s.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The house is thousands of miles away. Everything is fine.

For as long as he can remember, Steve has always preferred writing to speaking. When he writes, there’s a careful process, a way to ensure he is understood properly. Words dance around his head for days before he puts them to paper, and even then, he might rearrange or replace some as he goes. After that, they’re sent to an editor, pored over and changed until the story has morphed into something new, something beautiful and certain. 

 

All of that goes out the window when he tries to speak in person. When he was younger, he’d fumble over words, or lose them on the tip of his tongue. Absorbing as much literature as he could helped stop that. It’s one of the reasons he always liked Shakespeare; he admired—no, envied—the bard’s mastery of words. As he grew up, he didn’t struggle as much to get the words out. Words always spilled past his lips, but they became just that: a spill. He couldn’t control them, didn’t have time to  _ edit  _ the sentences before they fell from his mouth, and it got him in trouble more often than not. 

 

The trouble with words is that once they’re spoken, it’s very hard to take them back. He knows this better than anyone.

 

This is what Steve is thinking about as he sits on his back patio, trying his best to keep his breathing steady. Promising Shirley he’d talk to her was a classic case of his mouth working ahead of his brain. It seemed like a good thing to say at the time, to try and placate her, but he’s starting to regret it now, not even an hour later. 

 

What is he going to tell her? How much will she want to know? Will she hate him for holding back, for keeping secrets even now? 

 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, as if it could fight off the headache building behind his eyes, as if it could hold in all the spiraling thoughts. 

 

“Hey.” 

 

At the sound of Theo’s voice, Steve’s eyes snap open, blinking at the sight of his sister sitting beside him. It’s the second time that morning that one of his siblings have snuck up on him, although he suspects neither of them were trying to scare him in the first place. “Hey,” he murmurs. Theo is wearing her hair down, and the brown waves remind him of their mother.

 

Her eyes sweep over him, calculating and thoughtful; Steve feels as if she’s looking right through him. She’s always been able to do that, ever since they were kids. One look at you, that’s all it took, and she always seemed to know what was going on. 

 

“I heard you and Shirley arguing,” she says, and Steve cringes. He’s not surprised she heard, but he is a little ashamed. 

 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

Theo shakes her head, finally turning her intense gaze away. “She lasted longer than I thought she would, you know. I thought she’d jump on you the second the plane landed. But she waited until this morning to confront you. I’m proud of her,” she says, in her usual sardonic tone.

 

Steve huffs, and his lips twitch into a smile. “She means well,” he replies, even though he knows it’s obvious. He’s not sure what else to say.

 

“She does.” Her head tips slightly, folding her hands in her lap as she scans the horizon. Steve wonders if he’ll ever get used to seeing her without gloves. “She can also push a little too hard. What did she con you into?”

 

Hesitating for a moment, Steve rubs the back of his neck. “She didn’t exactly… I mean, the argument wasn’t really… it wasn’t like… uh. She apologized. And I apologized, too. I know she’s… I know you’re all…” He chokes out a sigh, cursing his brain for choosing now, of all times, to make him stumble over his words again. 

 

He waits for Theo’s biting comment, waits for her to roll her eyes and walk off like she always does, but instead he gets silence. It stuns him for a moment when he realizes she’s waiting for him to figure out what he needs to say. It makes his chest ache, and he’s not sure what to do with that. His fingers tap against his thigh, nervous energy manifesting as he carefully threads together a sentence. “I know that all of you are worried. And I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole about it, too. Habit, I suppose.” A self-deprecating smile twists the corners of his lips upwards. He shakes his head. “I’m not very good at this. Talking about my feelings. Shocking, I know. But… Shirl wants me to talk with her tonight. And I’m gonna try. And I know she’ll probably just tell you about it anyway, so… so I’ll probably just get it over with and talk to you and Luke, too. And Leigh.”

 

“Steve…” Theo starts, but Steve shakes his head and she falls silent. He remembers Shirley doing the same thing earlier, and it feels so unfamiliar that he wishes they’d snapped at him instead.

 

It feels like he’s choking; dread and anxiety twist together, crawling across his skin, and sinking into his stomach. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’m gonna say. I can’t… There’s some things that I  _ can’t _ say,” he whispers. ‘ _ I’m afraid you’ll hate me for it,’  _ he thinks. In fact, he’s not sure there’s very much he  _ can _ say. He’s wandering into dangerous territory, toeing the edge of a promise he’s determined to keep, and he’s not sure how his dad survived all those years if this is what it feels like. 

 

“Steven.”

 

The usage of his full name brings him back to the present, and he blinks dumbly at Theo. It takes him a few moments to realize her hand is on his shoulder. Clearing his throat, he shakes his head slightly, as if it will clear the fog around his brain. “Sorry. I spaced out,” he mutters. 

 

Biting her lip, Theo pulls her hand back and lets it fall into her lap. She twists the band on her ring finger, mulling something over for a few moments before she speaks. “We don’t expect you to tell us everything. It’s not therapy.” She flashes a smile, a momentary light before she grows somber again. “It’s not an interrogation, either. We just want to be sure you’ll be alright. That’s all. I know it’s terrifying letting people in after standing behind your walls for so long. Being vulnerable is one of the scariest things in the world. But it’s worth it, to be a little open with people who care about you. It’s not as lonely.”

 

Her voice is soft, but deliberate; it’s as if she’s telling him a big secret—careful, but hopeful and wise, too. It sounds like bedtime stories, and quiet reassurances, and sneaking candy in the middle of the night with his mom. It feels like his parents’ arms wrapping around him tightly because he’s still small, so they can still keep him safe. 

 

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Steve pretends he doesn’t feel so hollow. Instead, he smirks at his little sister and raises an eyebrow: his practiced, teasing Big Brother expression that has her rolling her eyes before he even speaks. “Are you using your therapy voice right now?” 

 

“I don’t have a ‘therapy voice.’ That’s stupid,” Theo retorts with a scoff. Her lips are pressed in a thin line, but there’s a little light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

 

The shit-eating grin that spreads over Steve’s face is genuine. “You totally are. Excuse me, Dr. Crain, but just how much is this session gonna cost me?” 

 

“Shut the fuck up, Steve.” Theo crosses her arms, shaking her head at her brother’s antics. Then, she raises an eyebrow and gives a smirk of her own. “More than you can afford.”

 

A laugh bursts out of Steve, the weight in his chest lifting a little as the sound fills the air. Any other day, he might’ve had a snarky comment to come back with, but in the moment, he’s content just having this. Theo is smiling at him, and it even looks a little fond. He’ll take that any day.

 

————

 

By the time he heads back to his room to retrieve his glasses, Leigh is awake. She’s sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard with her nose in a book, and Steve takes a moment to admire her. Her soft, golden hair is still messy from sleep, tangled and curling up slightly at her shoulders. There’s a light pink tinge to her cheeks, and the morning sun filters through the blinds to make panels of light kiss her face. A tiny frown tugs at her lips, a habit when she’s thinking about something or trying to concentrate, and her sharp eyes flick over the words on the pages of the book in her hands. In this moment, she looks soft and warm, a beacon of  _ home  _ and  _ comfort  _ even if the words don’t feel very familiar to him these days. She is so beautiful, and Steve thinks it’s impossible to love anyone more than he loves her. She is beautiful, and Steve knows he doesn’t deserve her.

 

Knowing, green eyes flicker up from the book to meet him, and he melts a little at her soft smile. “Good morning.”

 

“Morning.” He picks up his glasses from the bedside table, sliding the plastic frames onto his face. Seeking the warmth she radiates, he climbs into bed beside her, curling into her side as he often does. A quiet sigh escapes him when she runs her fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes as she repeats the motion. 

 

“Everything okay with Shirley?” she asks, sliding a bookmark between pages before she sets her book aside. 

 

Steve reaches for her now free hand, intertwining their fingers as he replies. “Yeah. We’re alright.” He frowns a little, squeezing her hand slightly when anxiety makes his stomach churn. “I told her I’d talk with her tonight. With… everyone,” he mutters.

 

“Everyone?” Leigh repeats, eyebrows raised.

 

Nodding, Steve blows out a long breath. “Yep. They’ll talk about it either way. If they all hear it from me, I have more control over it.” 

 

“Hmm. That makes sense.” 

 

“You’re invited. It’s gonna be a mess. I’m getting drunk,” he mumbles, and the sound of Leigh’s quiet laugh makes a small smile appear on his face.

 

He’s a little surprised when she gently squeezes his hand and presses a kiss to his temple. “Don’t worry, honey. You’ll be okay.” 

 

Of course she knows he’s nervous. She always knows.

 

“I just…” He sighs, throat working as he swallows around the lump in his throat. ‘ _ I’m afraid it won’t be enough. Worse, I’m afraid I’ll say too much.’  _ He clears his throat. “I don’t even know where I’m gonna start. They’re gonna think I’m a hypocrite.”

 

“You are.”

 

Hurt unfolds itself in his chest, sinking into his pores as he pulls away slightly. “What?”

 

Leigh is smiling at him, saccharine and sickly. The golden light from the window has shifted, and the sharp look has returned to her eyes. “You’re a hypocrite. All your life, you’ve told them they didn’t see anything, that they were  _ crazy _ . That’s bad enough on its own, but they still think you didn’t know. But you did, didn’t you, honey? You were seeing things, too. You always have. You just didn’t want to admit it, and that’s worse. You knew, and you dismissed them anyway.”

 

Every word feels like a knife, twisting in his gut because it’s  _ true. _ He tells himself enough that he’s a piece of shit, but it’s harder to hear it from someone else, let alone from his wife. “I— I didnt…” he croaks. His throat feels raw, and the words die as soon as he starts them. The sound of his own harsh breathing is distant, miles away, but he can hear Leigh crystal clear.

 

“You did. They’re going to hate you for it, Steve. And they’ll be right. They  _ should _ hate you. Don’t look so shocked. You knew this little bubble wasn’t going to last, sweetheart. This happy ending you’ve written for yourself. You’ve known all along that you don’t deserve it. It’s time the bubble burst.” Her eyes are cloudy, the smile on her face stretching unnaturally, and Steve is suddenly hit with a horrible wave of deja vu.

 

His world is tilting sideways, and he’s not sure what to hold on to anymore.

 

“Honey.” Leigh’s voice is trembling, and so are her hands as she reaches up to cradle his face. He flinches, but he’s frozen in place, chest heaving as he struggles to take in air. He blinks, and Leigh is golden again, eyes clear. She looks scared, he realizes, and he thinks ‘ _ me too _ ’ with a detached air. 

 

“Steven, breathe. It’s okay. You’re alright, honey, just breathe,” she soothes, rubbing his cheek gently with her thumb. He leans into the touch, trying to count his breaths as tears burn down his cheeks.

 

_ The house is thousands of miles away _ , he reminds himself. 

 

“You’re alright,” Leigh murmurs.

 

Steve closes his eyes and tries to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Filler, No Killer


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor & a doorway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out! Writing sort of got pushed aside with the holiday. As compensation, this chapter is a bit longer than usual!

A house is like a body, their mom used to say. Luke’s not sure he necessarily likes the analogy; thinking about a house being alive conjures images of a red door (the heart— no, the stomach) and pain. As he walks through the halls of Steve’s home, he wonders how their mom would see it. Would she look at the dining room and see family dinners? Would she see them laughing together in the living room and call it the heart? 

 

He pulls open the back door, and as soon as he steps outside, he regrets it.The warmth of the day has shifted into an icy cold now that the sky has darkened, and Luke shivers a little at the feeling. Worse, a terrible smell is assaulting his senses, like cleaning fluid and something metallic that makes his stomach churn. He glances back inside, at the warm glow of the home and the laughter of his family, before forcing out a sigh and digging in his pockets for his lighter. 

 

Shivering, he sticks a cigarette between chapped lips and prays the smoke will chase away the awful smell in the air. He takes a deep breath in, looks up, and promptly chokes at the sight of his twin. She’s standing a few feet in front of him, one hand over her mouth and tears streaming down her face. 

 

“Nellie?” he croaks. He can feel himself shaking, but he’s not so sure it’s from the cold anymore.

 

She doesn’t look at him, still staring at something invisible and weeping. After a few moments, her voice drifts toward him, a whisper that crescendos until it sounds like she’s standing right beside him. “I’m sorry. I— I didn’t mean… oh god. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she cries.

 

Luke’s fingers twitch at his sides, desperately wanting to reach out. He takes a hesitant step forward, heart pounding in his chest even as it breaks. It’s been so long since he’s seen her. He’s spent so many nights wishing he could, telling himself he didn’t care if she was real or just a memory. Now that she’s actually here, he finds that he’s just afraid. Afraid that she’s not herself, afraid she won’t see him, afraid of the message she brings. She looks so fucking  _ devastated _ , and Luke is afraid of what caused it. Swallowing thickly, he pleads, “Nell, what’s wrong?”

 

Watery blue eyes snap towards him, a harsh sob escaping her lips as recognition flashes across her pale face. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats, putting her face in her hands. She’s crying in earnest now, shoulders heaving with each sob.

 

It’s the last straw for Luke; he throws all his fear aside and wraps her in a tight hug. Ghost or not, a crying Nellie is unacceptable. Immediately, he’s hit with icy air, and his body tingles wherever it touches hers. Like static. That horrible smell is almost overwhelming now, stinging his nostrils and making his stomach do flips. Still, he clings to her, desperate to help in any way he can. “Shh, Nellie, you’re alright. You don’t have to be sorry. Tell me what’s going on,” he whispers. 

 

Nell sucks in a harsh breath, and suddenly Luke can feel her wrapping arms around him, too. When she speaks again, it’s in a whisper. Her voice is broken and shaky, barely audible even in the stillness of the night. “Is he gonna be okay?” she asks.

 

Fear crashes over him again, this time almost drowning him in its waves. For a moment, he can’t breathe, every alarm bell in his brain going off at once. “Wh— is… who, Nellie? Is who okay?” he asks, pulling away slightly to look her in the eyes. At least, he  _ tries _ to look at her, but she’s already gone. One moment, she’s there, and the next, he’s standing with empty arms, chest heaving and hands trembling. Without a word, she’s gone, but he thinks he knows the answer anyway.

 

His cigarette long forgotten, Luke throws open the door and stumbles back in the house like a drunkard, ears ringing. Someone grabs his arm to steady him, and he leans into them without even looking.

 

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay. I got you, Luke. What happened?” his support murmurs, and Luke is so relieved that his knees almost buckle.

 

Steve. It’s Steve, wrapping him in a one-armed hug and holding his weight.

 

Luke takes a deep, steadying breath and almost cries when it only smells like the casserole they had for supper. “We gotta talk, Stevie,” he chokes out, shifting so he’s standing up a little straighter. 

 

“Yeah, sure, Luke,” Steve mutters, and Luke knows his brother well enough to realize he doesn’t mean it. “Come sit down. I’ll get you some water.” 

 

Planting his feet in the ground, Luke shakes his head. “No, we have to  _ talk _ . We gotta… I saw— it was Nellie. It was  _ Nellie _ , Steve,” he insists, voice cracking. 

 

Steve swallows, and there’s a flicker of fear in his eyes as he nods. “Okay. We’ll— we’ll talk, okay?”

 

The fact that Steve isn’t disputing what he saw throws Luke for a loop, and he finds himself just blinking dumbly back at his older brother. “Oh… okay,” he stutters.

 

“I'm gonna grab a drink, okay, Luke? Everyone’s in the living room if you want to join them. I’ll be out in a second.” Steve speaks softly and calmly, as if he’s trying to reassure a frightened animal. As if Luke is the one in danger and not himself.

 

Shaking his head, Luke shoves his hands in his pockets. “No, I’m coming with you.” He ignores the look his brother gives him and stubbornly stays in place. “I wanted to get a glass of water anyway,” he says, instead of admitting he’s afraid to leave his brother’s side.

 

Finally, Steve just lets out a quiet sigh and nods, putting a gentle hand between Luke’s shoulder blades and guiding him toward the kitchen. 

 

He doesn’t say anything when Luke forgets to grab water, too busy hovering nearby and counting in his head. Luke doesn’t comment on Steve’s shaking hands or the way he cradles the bottle of whiskey.

 

————

 

They find the others in the living room, like Steve said they would. Shirley and Theo are sitting on the couch, laughing about something with Leigh, who is sitting in the loveseat beside them. Without a word, Steve plops himself at his wife’s feet, and Luke sits with his sisters on the couch. Smiles falling from their faces, the women exchange looks, clearly sensing the mood shift. Luke suspects his brother’s white-knuckled grip on the whiskey is what clues them in.

 

“What happened?” Shirley asks, leaning forward in her seat. All traces of humor have left her face, replaced by concern and a guarded look, like she’s ready for a fight. She eyes Steve, likely thinking something happened to him, but it just reminds Luke of the look she gives him when she expects he’s done something wrong.

 

Guiltily, Steve averts his gaze. “Luke had a visitor.”

 

“What?” Shirley squints at Luke, and he can feel the eyes of everyone else in the room on him, too.

 

They never believe him, but he tells them anyway. “Um. I saw… I saw Nellie. Outside.”

 

Surprisingly, Leigh is the only one who looks at him like he’s crazy. His siblings just look scared. He hates that seeing Nellie is something bad now, like she’s bringing some sort of evil or disaster. It doesn’t suit her. In life, she was sunshine, always looking out for others and bringing warmth and joy. As a ghost, she brings memories of the house, of the things haunting their family; she reminds them of death. It makes Luke feel sick.

 

“Did she say anything?” Shirley asks. She’s looking between both her brothers with something akin to horror.

 

Luke bites his lip. “Um. Sort of? It didn’t… she wasn’t making sense. It was like she was lost. Like… like she was in the wrong time. The wrong moment,” he explains, looking at his hands. 

 

“Like confetti,” Steve whispers. Luke nods.

 

“What did she say?” Shirley’s voice is quiet, yet demanding.

 

“She kept apologizing. And… and she asked me if he was okay.”

 

“He?” Theo prompts, eyebrows shooting up as she discreetly casts a look toward their oldest brother.

 

Luke shrugs, starting to pick at the dry skin around his fingernails. “I don’t know. She didn’t say. She was gone after that.”

 

Silence settles over them, heavy and uneasy. It’s Leigh who breaks it, looking between them all with a small frown. “Nell? How is that possible?” 

 

Picking at the label on the whiskey bottle he’s clutching, Steve clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s… it’s complicated. She’s not… she’s not really gone. I mean, she  _ is,  _ but…”

 

“She’s a ghost,” Theo cuts in, blunt as ever. “Us Crains can never escape them. We’re always haunted.” The last part is said bitterly, almost mocking. It makes Luke uneasy.

 

“A ghost?” Leigh repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Since when do you believe in ghosts, Steven?” She nudges him gently with her foot.

 

Shoulders tensing, the oldest Crain takes a deep breath. “Leigh, do you… do you remember why I got my vasectomy?” he asks softly. His eyes bore holes into the bottle he’s holding, still picking at the label.

 

“Because… you thought you were sick,” Leigh says slowly. 

 

Luke’s head jerks up at that, and he’s sure he’s not the only one staring at his older brother.  _ Sick _ ? What the hell did that mean?

 

Nodding and shifting uncomfortably, Steve clears his throat again. “I was wrong. Mom… mom always told me…. We always quoted Hamlet, she and I. ‘There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’” A wistful smile flashes across his face, eyes growing misty as he shakes his head. “Sometimes I wonder if she knew…” He trails off, sucking in a sharp breath and shaking his head. “Anyway. I was wrong. About so much. Ghosts are real.”

 

If that isn’t a pyrrhic victory, he’s not sure what is. All Luke ever wanted was for his older brother to believe him. He wanted Steve to listen without his usual skepticism, to tell him he isn’t crazy and that his memories are real. That disbelief drove a wedge between Steve and the rest of his siblings, had been the core of  _ so many problems _ , and here he is, acknowledging that he was wrong. Yet there is no relief, no vindication. The only thing Luke feels is hollow, and a deep, draining melancholy fills the hole as he looks at his older brother. He looks old, and tired, and  _ small _ . Luke hates it. It’s not the Steve he knows. 

 

As he watches his brother drink whiskey straight from the bottle, he realizes not only that the skepticism had been Steve’s armor, but it had been all of theirs, too. After all, they’d all relied on Steve to be strong; he knows he himself had relied on Steve’s logic countless times. He can’t remember helping his brother in the same way, doesn’t recall a time he relied on them for comfort. Shame winds its way through his chest as he wonders how many times his brother fell apart alone.

 

“Honey…” Leigh whispers, but Steve shakes his head slightly and she bites her lip, waiting for him to continue. 

 

“That’s been one of the hardest parts. Realizing I was wrong. Everything I thought about the world is  _ wrong _ . My— my whole perception of reality. It’s… it’s like having the ground ripped out from under you. And I was such a fucking idiot, you know? The things I can’t take back…” Steve’s breath hitches, and he brings the bottle to his lips again. 

 

“We were children, Steve. You made sense of things as best you could,” Theo says. That guarded expression is on her face again, a total contrast to her caring words. Luke wonders if she even knows she’s doing it.

 

Eyes burning holes in the floor, Steve frowns. “Yeah, well,” he mutters. His fingers start to tap out a beat on the bottle in his hands. In the silence that follows, he pulls a leg up to his chest and hugs it, taking another long drink.

 

Luke blurts the first thing he can think of to try and bring his brother back. “But you believe me now. That’s… That counts for something, right? You can’t change the past, but you’re trying now. You believed me about Nellie.”

 

Fingers pause in their tapping, and Steve even glances up at Luke for a moment before looking away again. “Of course I believe you.” He takes a deep breath, chewing on his lip for a moment. “I’ve… I’ve seen her, too,” he finally admits. The words creep over the room like ice. “The night she… the night she went to the house, I saw her. After you left. I didn’t know… I thought she was really there. And then dad called, and he said she was…” Steve takes a shuddering breath. “And I turned around, and she was right there. Fucking— teleported across the room. She looked— she looked so… scared and… and angry. Like she  _ hated _ me. And she screamed, and I fell, and then she was gone. I thought it was… I thought I was just going crazy, you know? I mean, it wasn’t the first… but I was so  _ sure  _ that she was real. Like mom was so sure she was dreaming. And that’s— that’s sort of how… I mean, how the fuck do I know where to draw the line? Ghosts are real, apparently, and houses can live and feed on people. How the fuck am I supposed to know what’s real?” 

 

A tear streaks down Steve’s cheek, but he wipes it away so quickly Luke almost doesn’t see it at all. Before he can think too much about it, he’s on his feet, crossing the short distance and placing himself at his older brother’s side. He plucks the bottle from Steve’s shaking hands and sets it on the coffee table, then scoots close to his brother and throws an arm around his shoulders.

 

“Nellie never hated you,” he states, simply because it’s the easiest thing to say, the thing of which he’s most certain. “She might’ve been mad, but she always loved you. All of us. Always.” 

 

Steve makes a choked sound, leaning into Luke slightly and taking ragged breaths. “Okay,” he rasps, and Luke squeezes his shoulder gently. He can feel tears pricking at his own eyes, and he knows his lips are pressed in a grim line as he tries to hold it together. He hates this, hates watching the strongest person he knows fall apart. It’s fucking terrifying, and gut-wrenching, and just  _ wrong _ to see Steve cry, to feel him shaking, to know he has to get drunk just to tell them the truth. He hates it, but he is glad to be there, glad to support his brother. This sucks, but thinking about Steve going through this alone is worse.

 

The floorboards creak as Theo crosses the distance next, sitting on the other side of Steve and bumping shoulders with him. “This is real. We’re real,” she says firmly. “So ghosts exist. Okay. That doesn’t mean everything has to change. You can still be the skeptic— just not with ghosts anymore.”

 

Hesitating for a moment, Steve opens his mouth and closes it again. He frowns, fingers twitching as he looks to the bottle sitting at the table. “It’s not that easy,” he finally mutters.

 

“No, it’s not,” Shirley agrees. She finally joins them, sitting across from Steve and effectively cutting off his view of the bottle. Luke can see the tears making her eyes sparkle, sees them threatening to spill down her cheeks. Despite this, she takes a deep breath and manages a small smile. “It’s not, but that’s okay. We’ll help you figure it out.”

 

Luke doesn’t miss the way Steve’s chest heaves, watches as his brother hangs his head and knows he’s trying his hardest not to cry. It’s selfish, but he kind of hopes he doesn’t; if Steve starts crying now, then Luke knows he’ll follow soon after. 

 

“Okay,” Steve whispers. He still doesn’t look up at them, but he hasn’t moved away, either. Luke counts this as a win. After all they’ve lost, he’ll take anything he can get. There’s still so much he isn’t saying, so much he hasn’t explained. Maybe he’ll never tell them. He’s spent his whole life carefully building walls to surround himself, but finally, finally, he’s built a door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are my wall metaphors getting redundant yet?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Leigh have a talk.

Steve wakes up in the middle of the night with the worst migraine he’s had in a long time. Pain pounds its way through his head, so intense that it’s paralyzing, pressing him into the bed while a jackhammer cracks open his skull. He can barely breathe, barely think, but at one point he thinks he feels someone holding his hand. 

 

As soon as the pain subsides enough that he can move, his stomach begins to turn, forcing him to slide out of bed and stumble to the bathroom. He barely makes it to the toilet before he starts dry-heaving, body trembling violently with all the stress it’s under. The alcohol burns even more coming back up, like liquid fire burning him from the inside out. He burns until there is nothing left, nothing but the pain in his throat and chest and most of all, his head.

 

Years pass by, or at least, it seems that way, before the pain subsides into something more bearable. Body heavy with exhaustion, he shifts so he’s resting against the wall, and he takes a moment to just breathe. To breathe, and remember there is a world that exists outside the pain. Shaking hands touch the cool tile of the bathroom floor, just to remind himself that it’s there, just to feel the sensation. His body feels heavy with exhaustion, and his shoulders ache from slouching over so much. Taking a deep breath in, he lets the sensations, uncomfortable though they are, ground him. 

 

He falls asleep not long after. For once, he doesn’t dream, just floats in a quiet abyss until something pulls him back, jolting him awake again. There’s a hand on his shoulder. He blinks, squinting as his eyes adjust to the light. The gentle hand on his shoulder, likely what had startled him awake, belongs to Leigh, who looks very concerned indeed.

 

“What are you doing in here?” she asks softly. Steve appreciates the gesture; he’s not sure he can handle loud noises yet.

 

“I drank way too much. I’m getting too old for this shit,” he replies, a wry smile appearing on his face.

 

A soft laugh escapes Leigh, and she leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “Mmm. The dangers of drinking over thirty,” she murmurs. There’s a fond smile on her face, one he knows he doesn’t deserve, and she pats his cheek. “Come have some breakfast, old man. You’ll feel better.”

 

She stands up to leave, and Steve grabs her hand, surprising himself with how desperately he holds it in his own. Suddenly, all he can do is stare at their intertwined hands, a frown on his face the only indication of the whirlwind of thoughts crashing through him.

 

“Honey?” 

 

Steve blinks, reluctantly looking up to meet his wife’s concerned gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he whispers. He swallows hard, looking away again. “About the ghosts. I was afraid I’d sound…” He trails off, his grip on her hand loosening.

 

“Crazy?” Leigh finishes. He nods, clenching his jaw. In response, she squeezes his hand tightly and slowly sits beside him, letting out a heavy sigh as she does. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation on the bathroom floor,” she grumbles. “Couldn’t have been in our bed, or on a couch, or anything soft?” 

 

Cringing, Steve starts to pull away. “I’m sorry. It can wait,” he mutters. He falls quiet when Leigh tugs on his arm, pulling him close again.

 

“Nope. I’m already on the floor, so it’s happening.” She squeezes his hand tightly in her own, mulling over her next words carefully. “I would much rather you sound crazy than bottle it up inside. We agreed on no more secrets, remember? Not just for my sake, but for yours, too. I know it’s hard. I know you don’t like it. I just… I wish you were better at asking for help, honey.  You’d let yourself get torn apart and never speak a word of it to anyone else. And that kills me. It kills me that you’d rather suffer silently than let anyone help.”

 

For once, Steve is speechless. He doesn’t understand why she’s being so kind, why she’s not angry with him. He can’t comprehend the softness in her eyes when she looks at him. “I just… I’ve always taken care of myself. I mean, since I was a kid. No one ever wanted to know how I was doing. Half the time, it doesn’t even occur to me that anyone would want to hear about it.” Another excuse. He is full of them.

 

A soft sigh leaves Leigh, and she shakes her head slightly at him. “That’s not… Honey, you have to realize that’s not even half the problem. You insist on keeping people out, and even worse, you get defensive when someone tries to help. I mean, you got into a huge fight with Luke because he was worried about you. It took four of us to convince you to even open up a little bit,  _ and _ you had to get drunk. Why is it so hard for you to let people help?” 

 

“Habit,” Steve insists quietly. His free hand taps a beat on his thigh, and he takes a deep breath. “My family doesn’t talk about feelings. At least, we haven’t for a very long time. My mom was good with that sort of thing, but… After everything that happened, I didn’t want to scare my siblings. Then we got older, and I pissed everyone off. So yeah, I’m not used to talking about my feelings. It’s… it’s weird, and new, and just seems wrong. Besides… Some things can’t be said. You live them, or you don’t.” 

 

“Then let me live it with you,” Leigh says. He can feel her eyes on him, but he cannot bring himself to meet her gaze. “If you can’t say it, at least let me stand with you and weather the storm. I can wait for the words to come as long as you let me hold your hand along the way. No more walls, remember?” 

 

Steve cringes at the sound of his own words. Then, it is his turn to sigh. He wants so badly to turn away, to shut down and pretend he’s fine. He wants to lie to her, to promise he’ll be open, because he knows that’s what she wants to hear. He wants to tell her what he’s seen, what he feels. He wants, but he does none of those things. In the end, he is honest. “I can’t… I can’t promise you that. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to tear down the walls. Most of the time, I don’t even think I  _ want  _ to. I mean, I already regret saying what I did last night. I can’t promise to take down the walls, but I promise you that I’ll try to let you in sometimes. It might take awhile, but… I’ll try.”

 

“That’s good enough for me,” Leigh murmurs, squeezing his hand again. She leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, but she quickly pulls back, wrinkling her nose slightly. “You smell like puke and liquor, honey. Maybe you should take a shower before you come to breakfast.” 

 

Quiet laughter rumbles in Steve’s chest. “Sounds like a plan.” Slowly, he stands up, blinking past the dizzy wave that washes over him. When the feeling passes, he offers her his hand, squatting slightly to help her up. “I’ll be out in a bit,” he promises. He kisses the top of her head gently, then leans down to press a kiss to her stomach.

 

She smiles warmly at him, soft and loving and everything he doesn’t deserve. She pauses in the doorway, turning around to face him again. “For the record, I don’t think you’re crazy,” she murmurs.

 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You sure? I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.” He flashes a weak smile, trying to tease her despite the nerves making his stomach churn again.

 

“I don’t,” Leigh says, and smiles at his confused expression. “But I believe that you and your siblings experienced something strange and terrible in that house. I can tell when you’re lying, and last night, you were telling the truth.” 

 

Her support feels worse than the disbelief he’d been expecting. It makes him think of all the times he’d shut his siblings out, made Nell and Luke feel shitty when they’d reached out to him. All they’d wanted was his support, his reassurance, and he had been incapable of it. How could he accept Leigh’s kind words when he himself had never extended the same courtesy when his siblings needed it the most? Eyes stinging, Steve pulls his wife into a tight hug once again. “I love you,” he mumbles, voice shaking, and he hates himself for it.

 

“I love you, too, Stinky,” Leigh replies, and Steve chokes out a laugh.

 

There’s a headache building up behind his eyes as he watches her walk away.

————

 

When he finally joins the others in the living room, he finds that Luke, Shirley, and Leigh are excitedly discussing the nursery. At the moment, it’s still pretty bare bones— just the essentials, really. There’s a crib, a rocking chair, and a few boxes of miscellaneous items for the baby. Most telling is the streak of pink on the wall where he started painting months ago, before his migraines started becoming more frequent.

 

Apparently, Shirley had seen the sad state of things and decided to help plan and decorate the room while they were in town. Luke had lit up at the suggestion, and he’d immediately asked if he could help, too. Leigh was grateful for the help, and somehow it spiraled into the three coming up with grand ideas for the room.

 

Theo , who has been sitting a short distance away with a cup of coffee, informs Steve of all this when he wanders in. Honestly, the thought of his siblings being so involved in his child’s life—even before she has been born into the word— chokes him up a little. While he has to laugh at their antics and Theo’s feigned boredom, he can’t pretend that it doesn’t give him a warm, fuzzy feeling. He’s glad that his daughter will get to know her aunts and uncle well; he only wishes Nell were there to see it all. 

 

“Nell would be all over this,” he murmurs to Theo with a small smile. There’s a lump in his throat, a mix of guilt and grief choking him. “She’d love being an aunt. Again.”

 

Theo smiles softly, the same sadness reflected in her eyes. “She would.” 

 

Clearing his throat, Steve rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “So how long do you think you guys will stay?”  He cringes when it comes out more rude than he’d intended; not for the first time, he wishes he was better at talking with people.

 

Turning her attention away from Leigh for the moment, Shirley sits back in her seat. “Just a few days. We wanted to stay longer, but it was the best we could do with our work schedules.”

 

Steve is surprised to see that Shirley actually looks somewhat dismayed by this fact. When was the last time she had willingly spent prolonged periods of time with him? He can’t remember. It’s been even longer since she was disappointed to tell him goodbye. 

 

If anyone asks about the lump in his throat, he’ll blame his hangover. “Don’t worry about it. Your jobs are important, and I wouldn’t want to interfere too much.” He waves a dismissive hand, trying to express that he appreciates any time he gets.

 

Apparently, that’s not how it comes across, because Leigh gives him a look as his sisters roll their eyes. Luke raises an eyebrow at him, probably questioning how they’re related at all. At least, that’s how Steve interprets it. He cringes and shrugs a shoulder, plucking his glasses off his face and cleaning them on his shirt. It’s better than looking at everyone.

 

“We’re happy to have you. And if you’re serious about the nursery, we’d really appreciate the help,” Leigh says. She’s always cleaning up his messes. 

 

He feels like shit every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration was just not here for this chapter oh man. I almost scrapped the whole thing a few times. Next couple chapters will be better, I promise!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tap, tap, tap...

* * *

If there’s anything Luke has learned from his turbulent life, it’s that you have to take the good with the bad. He’s made a lot of progress in the last two years, that much is certain, but it’s still difficult to focus on the positives sometimes. It’s especially difficult when he’s worrying about something— or in this case, some _one_.

 

Spending more time with Steve is really testing Luke’s philosophy of balance.

 

On one hand, he’s happy to spend time with his older brother. Hanging out with Steve has always felt safe, like stability. To him, family has always meant _safety_ , even when they weren’t getting along. After all they've been through, being able to spend time with Theo, Steve, and Shirley leaves Luke feeling light and warm.

 

He’s glad to spend time with his family, but the more time he spends with his brother, the more cracks he starts to see in the foundation he’d once thought to be so strong. Once he’s seen them, they’re so glaringly obvious that he wonders how he wasn’t seeing warning signs before; maybe it’s just that he knows to look for them now.

 

In hindsight, it was foolish to think any of them could make it through so much trauma without getting a little hurt. It’s like their whole lives, someone has been chucking rocks at the windows of their home, and for some reason, he’s convinced himself that some windows are stone-proof.

 

He thinks maybe if he’d bothered to check for damage sooner, there wouldn’t be so many cracks in the glass.

 

————

 

By noon, Shirley and Leigh have created a checklist of wants and needs for the nursery. Theo and Steve spend way too long arguing over who gets to drive until Shirley sits behind the wheel and ends the argument for them. At their disgruntled expressions, Leigh just laughs before climbing into the passenger’s seat. Luke basks in the normality of it all for the whole drive, watching Theo and Steve bicker with amusement.

 

They’re only in the store for about twenty minutes before Shirley banishes the brothers to the car for being “unhelpful.” Luke would be offended if he didn’t suspect it has more to do with the visible tension in Steve’s shoulders than anything he did. So, he reluctantly agrees, walking slowly toward the door as Steve kisses Leigh’s forehead and says a quick goodbye. Maybe he’s being clingy, but he wants to be sure his older brother can catch up with him.

 

When they step out of the store, some of the tension bleeds from Steve, although Luke notices his brow is still pinched together slightly. “Headache?” he asks timidly, half expecting his brother to snap at him.

 

A startled glance is what he gets in return, as if Steve hadn’t realized he was there at all. It makes Luke’s stomach twist uneasily.

 

“Uh, yeah. Probably just the hangover… Why is it always so damn bright in those stores?” Steve grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets moodily.

 

Luke smirks at that, pulling open the car door. “So you can see stuff better. They fix the lighting specifically so you buy more stuff. I think, anyway,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders before he climbs into the backseat.

 

Rolling his eyes, Steve climbs in beside him and shuts the door. “Yeah, I know. It was more of a complaint than an actual question.” He pulls off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

 

“I know,” Luke says softly. He folds his hands in his lap, staring at them and just listening to his brother’s quiet breathing.

 

When they lived at Aunt Janet’s, he used to come into Steve’s room after nightmares. Steve would always let him crawl into bed, swearing he’d protect Luke from the monsters in his dreams. “Don’t worry, Luke. They won’t come in my room. They’re scared of big brothers,” he would say. Luke believed him; he always did.

 

Curled up in Steve’s bed, Luke didn’t feel so afraid anymore. It never took him very long to fall back asleep; he just counted Steve’s breaths until he drifted off.

 

He wishes he felt the same sense of safety now. Instead, he listens as Steve’s breathing gets more and more erratic, and he can feel his own heart rate speed up as he finally looks back at his older brother.

 

“Stop it!” Steve snaps, and it’s so sudden that Luke jumps.

 

“Stop… stop what?” he stutters out, letting out a shaky exhale as he presses a hand to his chest.

 

“The—the fucking tapping! Stop fucking tapping! I have a headache, Luke, and you’re driving me—“ Steve cuts himself off, scrubbing a hand over his face.

 

“Crazy?” Luke deadpans. There’s a familiar ache in his chest, but now it’s mixed with a new and terrible dread. He can see the regret on his brother’s face, but the old argument doesn’t sting any less. “I wasn’t tapping, Steve.” Giving his brother a short glare, Luke crosses his arms and says something he knows he’ll regret later, when he’s not as angry. “You’re the one who’s _crazy_.”

 

Steve blinks. Then, it’s his turn to let out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he whispers, so softly that Luke just barely hears it. He probably wasn’t meant to hear it. The older Crain turns away and rests his forehead against the window without another word.

 

An uneasy silence settles over them, one so much worse than the silence that filled the car only minutes before. It’s the worst kind of silence, but it’s one that’s familiar all the same.

 

A minute passes, and neither brother can bring themself to speak again. Another minute, and from the silence, a sound. A soft, rhythmical tap, like long nails on glass. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke sees his brother tense up again, harsh breaths fogging up the window near his face.

 

Luke’s breath catches in his throat as the sound grows louder, louder, until it sounds like it’s right in his ear. His wide eyes are stuck on Steve’s crossed arms, at his brother’s balled up fists. His own hands are still in his lap, frozen in place like the rest of him. The sound continues, tapping out a pattern that nags at Luke’s memory, familiar but not enough to be clear.

 

Heart hammering in his chest, Luke finally manages to suck in a breath. “That’s not me,” he whispers, and finally brings himself to meet his brother’s gaze. “It’s not me.”

 

“I know.” Steve lets out a long, shaky breath, sliding his glasses back onto his face. He sits up a little straighter, expression changing into something neutral and unwavering. “Probably something outside the car. Bird pecking or something,” he mutters. His voice is shaking slightly.

 

Anger flares up in Luke’s chest, battling the fear for a few moments until the two mix together into something new. “A _bird_?” he hisses.

 

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but it clicks shut when the driver’s side door opens and Shirley sticks her head in.

 

“Glad to see you didn’t run off. Come on, help us load stuff into the trunk,” she says. It’s only then that Luke realizes the tapping has stopped.

 

Both brothers climb out of the car before it has the chance to start up again.

 

————

 

They don’t talk about it on the ride home. It sits on Luke’s chest, heavy enough to distract him from whatever conversation the others are having. Somehow, Steve is chatting with them like nothing happened, and it just makes Luke feel worse. Why is Steve still trying to pretend?

 

Why is he so good at it?

 

Unlike his brother, Luke has always been terrible at hiding his emotions—at least, from his siblings. They could always tell when something was wrong, be it emotional or physical, and this is no exception. As soon as they get back to Steve and Leigh’s, Shirley pulls him aside while everyone else grabs bags from the trunk.

 

“What happened? What did he do?” she asks, arms folded across her chest. Ready for a fight.

 

Luke wants to cry. “He— he didn’t…” The words dry up in his throat. His breaths stutter as force their way past his lips, and he shakes his head slightly. “It’s the house,” he whispers. Hearing the words aloud, even if he’s the one speaking them, feels like a punch in the gut.

 

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Shirley reaches out and gently grabs his arms. “Okay, okay. Deep breaths, Luke. I need you to calm down, okay? I don’t understand. Tell me what happened, and take it as slow as you need. It’s alright,” she soothes. She swallows, and Luke sees desperation leaking through the soft expression on her face. “I just need to know what’s going on.”

 

Closing is eyes, Luke sucks in a slow, shaky breath. _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7_ . He opens his eyes, and Shirley is still there, still holding his arms. _She can fix it_ , he thinks. _She’s good at fixing things._ He takes another deep breath, and then the words are spilling out. He tells her about Steve’s headache, about their argument, and most importantly, about the tapping. He tells her how he didn’t hear it at first, and how it became deafening, and how Steve so easily faked normality.

 

Tears are dripping down his cheeks by the time he’s finished. Shaking hands wipe them away, and Shirley squeezes his arms gently. “Do you think he hears it often?” she asks, more curious than demanding for once. She looks a little paler than before.

 

Luke shrugs, averting his eyes. There’s a question, repeating itself over and over in his brain, demanding to be spoken. He holds his breath for a moment, trying to keep it back, but it’s just as urgent when he exhales. So, voice quiet and hesitant, he asks. “What if… what if it’s too late, Shirl?”

 

The reaction is instantaneous. She recoils from him as if she’s been burned, hands dropping to her sides and clenching into fists. “No,” she says. Her voice is sharp, making Luke flinch, breath hitching.

 

“I just—“ he starts, but he doesn’t get any farther.

 

“Stop it. We’re right here with him. It’s not—“ She sucks in a sharp breath, crossing her arms over her chest. It looks more like she’s holding herself together than anything else. “It’s not going to be like it was with Nellie. We… we’re helping him, Luke. The house isn’t going to take him. We— _I_ won’t let it.”

 

She sounds so certain that Luke can’t help but believe her. Shirley has always been the sort of person to absolutely commit to something, for better or for worse, and when combined with her protective streak, she became a force to be reckoned with.

 

It’s been a very long time since that fierce protectiveness was aimed toward Steve.

 

“Okay,” Luke finally whispers. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and counts to seven before he exhales. “Okay.” He wipes the last of his tears from his face, repeating his measured breaths until he can believe Shirley’s reassurances.

 

————

 

The dread creeps in again later that night, when he’s helping Leigh with the dishes.

 

Everyone else is chatting in the living room, their soft conversation drifting into the kitchen and becoming comforting background noise. It seems, to Luke, as if they’re in a bubble, safe and surrounded by family. There is no Hill House, no trauma, no loss. Just the running of water as Leigh rinses a plate, the soft clatter  of a dish being set out to dry, and his siblings laughing a room away.

 

He’s digging through the soapy water for silverware when the bubble pops.

 

All it takes is a quiet sigh, an innocent noise from Leigh to shatter it all. He glances over at her curiously, and it’s then that he notices she’s let a few soapy dishes pile up on her side of the sink.

 

Blinking, he looks from the dishes to his sister-in-law. “Um. Are you okay?” he asks cautiously. At her look of confusion, he glances again to the pile of dishes left unrinsed.

 

“Oh.” She frowns, picking up the dishes and resuming her rinse-and-dry routine. “Sorry. I was thinking about something. I guess I’m just stalling,” she admits quietly.

 

Brows furrowing together, Luke abandons his own dish cleaning. “Stalling? Why?”

 

Letting out another quiet sigh, Leigh shakes her head slightly and stacks another dish on the drying rack. “It’s silly. I’m just… dreading going to sleep tonight. I just have a bad feeling about it.”

 

There’s a pit forming at Luke’s feet, and he feels as if whatever is keeping him suspended is going to break at any moment. “It’s not silly,” he says, because he’s not sure what else he can say. He tries to think of all the reassurances his siblings have given him, tries to recall what Shirley told him earlier that day, but he just draws a blank.

 

Leigh turns to him with a small smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” She sets another plate on the drying rack before she dries her own hands and leans against the counter. “I guess I don’t have anything to worry about with all of you here, right? I just… wish I could shake this feeling.”

 

“It’ll be alright,” Luke says, even if he doesn’t believe it. It’s what she needs to hear, and if he’s honest, it’s what he wants to hear, too. “Like you said, with all of us here, there’s nothing to worry about.”

 

To his surprise, Leigh wraps him in a tight hug. “You’re a sweetheart, Luke. We’re lucky to have you,” she says. As she pulls away, she flashes a bright smile his way. “Now, let’s finish the dishes before the others start to wonder what’s taking so long.”

 

When Luke turns back to the sink, the water is almost completely devoid of bubbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get here, everyone!! I was struggling for inspiration again, but it should be smooth sailing from here on-- knock on wood!
> 
> Thanks so much for all the kudos and comments! I really appreciate every single one! <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh, man, does this chapter get dark. As the saying goes, it’s always darkest before the dawn, right?
> 
> This chapter is the most fucked up love letter to Peter, Paul, and Mary ever. Here are the songs mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> •Hush-a-Bye   
> (https://youtu.be/dM2VN2Hn-Z0)  
> •Early In The Morning (https://youtu.be/sX0X_1t3cUQ)
> 
> ***
> 
> A slightly spoiler-y trigger warning: there is a vague description of a car accident in this chapter.

Darkness creeps under the doorway, crawling over the ceiling and filling the corners of the room as its occupants sleep unawares. It circles around, stretching out to fill the space before quickly snapping back like a rubber band. Where it pools, a figure leans over Steve’s twitching form. 

 

Softly, it begins to sing.  _ “Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry. Go to sleep, you little baby…” _

 

Steve jolts awake, heart hammering against his ribcage and breaths coming out in short, shaky bursts. He blinks, eyes darting around in his surroundings as he tries to steady his breathing. It takes him a few moments to realize nothing is out of the ordinary; he’s in his room with Leigh, who is thankfully still asleep. 

 

“Mother _ fucker, _ ” he whispers, letting out a long sigh. He sags against the mattress, taking a moment to catch his breath. His heart is still pounding in his chest, although it’s not as painful as it had been moments before.  _ Another nightmare _ , he thinks bitterly.

 

He scrubs at his face roughly, hoping to shake some of the terror from his body somehow. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t find much success, and the nightmare’s claws just dig deeper into him.

 

Taking another deep breath, Steve tries to remember what he can do to ground himself, rummaging through his brain for any throw-away advice Theo might have given. 

 

Family. Family has always been important to him, for better or for worse.  _ Leigh,  _ for that matter, is the best at calming him down; she always seems to know just what to say and what to do. She could both unhook the claws and clean the wound. 

 

Steve glances over at his wife’s sleeping form. For the briefest of moments, he considers waking her up; he imagines telling her everything and holding her close, soaking up her reassurances and finding peace. Before he can feed the thought any further, he dismisses it. While he knows he certainly won’t be winning any awards for husband of the year, or even husband of the decade, he’s been actively trying to be a less shitty one. He’s pretty sure waking up his pregnant wife would be a point against him.

 

Besides, he’s an adult. Having a nightmare is hardly a reason to cause his family panic. If anything, they’d probably just roll their eyes at him; after all, none of them were strangers to bad dreams. 

 

Or bad realities.

 

Steve heaves a quiet sigh before he carefully slides out of bed, grabbing his glasses off the bedside table as he goes. He has a feeling he’s going to be up for a while; one specific piece of his nightmare is nagging at him, refusing to be forgotten.

 

After all, how could he forget it? He’d had the same recurring nightmare for years after they moved in with Aunt Janet.

 

It starts with Hugh making him promise to keep his eyes closed. Being carried down the hallway, and being unable to resist just one little peek—

 

A ghostly figure, following after them. Something horrible, surely, if it had scared his father so badly. So he runs, away from the figure, away from the house. Away from the monsters. 

 

It didn’t take him long to figure out that the monster wasn’t real; even without his dad’s explanation, he could put the pieces together. He was thirteen years old, not a baby. Once he thought about it, he knew no one else was in the house. Ghosts didn’t exist. That only left one possibility.

 

The figure he’d run away from was his own mother. He couldn’t forgive his father for abandoning her when she needed them the most, and he certainly couldn’t forgive himself. So he’d dreamt of her, chasing after them, every night for months afterward. Until one night, he went to sleep and dreamt of nothing.

 

He knows now that it hadn’t really been his mother— at least, not fully. She’d been part-Liv, part-house; she was too lost to realize what she was doing.

 

It doesn’t make him feel any better about running away. In fact, thinking about what his dad showed him just makes him feel sick, makes the dread and hurt and guilt and fear twist together in his stomach like some sort of fucked up braid of rope.

 

_ (Rope, like the one that had ended Nellie’s life.) _

 

Steve feels like he’s going to throw up. 

 

He thinks of his sisters, sleeping in the guest room down the hall, and his brother sleeping in an apartment across town. He thinks of his wife, pregnant and snoring in their bed. He’s let all of them down, hurt them over and over, yet they’re all here, trying to help him.

 

Don’t they understand? He killed his mother and his baby sister, wished death upon his father. He shit on all their lives, ignored and denied when they’d needed him. He doesn’t deserve their kindness. He just doesn’t.

 

“You don’t deserve it,” comes a whisper.

 

His fist clenches, and he’s surprised to feel metal cutting into his palms. He doesn’t remember grabbing his keys. For a long moment, he just stares at them, sitting innocently in his hand. Going for a drive does sound nice; maybe it would help clear up all the aggressive thoughts bouncing around his head. 

 

Decision made, Steve closes his fingers around his keys again and quietly heads out the door.

 

————

 

For the first thirty minutes of driving, he keeps losing his focus, getting caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts crashing around his head. On several occasions, he has to force himself to focus on the road; it’s that meticulous focus on what’s in front of him and the mechanics of driving itself that calms him down, in the end. 

 

His foot, gently pressing the gas pedal. His hands, clenching the wheel. The road, stretching endlessly before him. All familiar things, all things he knows to be true and real. The certainty of it helps him breathe a little easier.

 

He drives another fifteen minutes before the silence in the car starts to bother him, and he presses the button to turn on his radio. Nothing happens. Frowning, he tries again; still nothing. He tries to remember the last time he had his car looked at; could something be wrong with the wiring? 

 

Suddenly, he wishes he knew something about cars. He’d just never been interested in them, too busy with books or video games or taking care of his siblings. The one time his dad tried to teach him some of the basics, he’d been too angry with him to bother listening.

 

Frowning at the memory, Steve tries turning the radio on one last time. Again, nothing happens. “Great,” he mutters bitterly, hands squeezing the wheel a little tighter. He lets out a frustrated sigh, and suddenly, the radio fizzles to life, hissing out static for a few seconds before it fades into the voice of a popular DJ. 

 

_ “— and now, Peter Paul and Mary!” _

 

Steve chokes on his inhale.  _ Of course,  _ he thinks. Of course the station would play his mom’s favorite band. Of course. What else did he expect? 

 

_ “Well, early in the morning, about the break of day, I ask the lord to help me find a way…“  _ Paul croons. Steve’s hands grip the wheel a little tighter.

 

“Be rational,” he mutters to himself. He’s listening to an oldies station; it’s really not that strange that the DJ decided to play a popular song by a popular band.

 

_ “This lonely body needs a helping hand…” _

 

“Why this song?” he groans. He remembers so many mornings, so many afternoons, spent dancing wildly to it with his mom. It was their song, just for them, and whenever she played it they would sing along. 

 

Hearing it now just makes him want to cry, even as his fingers tap to the beat. The same pattern he always taps out when he’s nervous— the same tap-tap on the window, earlier that day. 

 

Steve’s hand jolts over to shut the radio off, unable to listen to the upbeat tune anymore. He glances at the road, then back at the radio, chest heaving slightly. 

 

He’s losing focus again. Steve takes a deep breath and blinks a few times, mentally shaking himself before he looks back at the road— just in time to see a figure illuminated his headlights. 

 

“Fuck!”

 

Jerking the wheel to the left, he realizes the figure is wearing a familiar white dress. Tires squeal as he tries to correct his course, and in his mind’s eye, he sees a broken neck. 

 

A car horn blares, so close he thinks briefly that it’s his own. Both the obnoxious sound and his train of thought are cut off by a deafening crash— metal on metal.

 

He opens his eyes, but he can’t remember closing them. He blinks, and he realizes the world is wrong-side-up. He breathes, and cringes at the rattling sound that accompanies it. “Not good,” he rasps. The pain knocks his next breath out of him, and he has time to register distant shouting before he passes out again.

 

————

 

There’s a mangled car in the road. Shirley doesn’t want to look. 

 

Shirley never wants to look, but she doesn’t have a choice this time. 

 

She takes a step forward, but a hand on her arm pulls her back. Startled, her gaze snaps toward its source; piercing blue eyes catch her own pale imitations. “Dad?” she whispers.

 

“Keep your eyes on me, Shirl.” Although his grip on her is gentle, his gaze is unyielding, leaving no space for arguments. 

 

“What’s going on?” Her voice trembles as it falls past her lips.

 

Hugh isn’t looking at her; rather, he is looking behind her. “I need you to listen to me, okay? I promise you that everything is going to be alright. You just have to be brave and hold down the fort for a little while so I can get things sorted out,” he says.

 

It doesn’t make her feel any better. In fact, it only scares her more. “Will you cut the cryptic shit for once?! What the hell is going on?” she snaps. She’s about five seconds away from turning her head and finding out for herself.

 

As if reading her thoughts, Hugh’s attention snaps to his oldest daughter and he lets out a sigh. “It’s not your fault,” he reassures. Misty eyes match the grim lines on his forehead.

 

“Dad?”

 

But Hugh isn’t looking at Shirley anymore. Instead, he casts his sad eyes beyond her and squeezes her arms gently. His cheeks are wet with tears, although Shirley can’t quite remember when he started to cry. His voice is soft and solemn when he finally answers her plea. “All roads lead to home,” he whispers, and then he is gone.

 

————

 

Miles away, in her older brother’s house, Shirley jolts awake. In an instant, she’s flinging the covers off of herself and fumbling to turn on the lamp, half-asleep and desperate.

 

“Shirl?” comes Theo’s groggy voice from across the room. She, too, sounds like she’s still half-asleep.

 

Shirley freezes, struggling to remember something from her dream that might justify her panic. She falls short, but she turns on the light and looks to her sister anyway. “Something’s wrong.”

 

————

 

_ “Way down yonder, in the meadow, poor little baby cryin’ ‘mama!’ Birds and butterflies flutter ‘round his eyes. Poor little baby cryin’ ‘mama!’” _

 

His mother’s soft, melodic voice floats around him, wrapping him up in its warm tones just like he remembered. Gentle fingers card through his hair as she sings, and for the moment, Steven Crain feels at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t hate me omg. The story isn’t over yet!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The siblings cope, and Steve is confused.

Out of all the people Shirley has known and loved in her life, no one has mastered the fine art of pissing her off quite like Steven. When they were kids, he was always the sibling she bickered the most with, even more than she argued with Theo. While Theo would often be sarcastic and distant, which got on Shirley’s nerves in a special way, she didn’t go out of her way to annoy her older sister like Steve did. Steve would chase her around, tease her, and click his pen over and over just to laugh when she snapped at him. He mellowed out as they grew older, although Shirley thinks that had more to do with grief and loss and responsibility than it did anything else. 

 

They used to get along so well, bonded by their shared responsibility and their disbelief in the ghost stories the tabloids spread. Both worn down but focused on helping their siblings, taking care of them the best they could. They’d had an understanding of each other, Shirley thought. Then, he’d gone and written that stupid book, and she forgot how to  _ not  _ be angry at him. Although the anger she felt over the book wasn’t the same as the irritation from their childhoods; this was different, more complicated, laced with grief and hurt and most of all  _ betrayal _ .

 

She feels that same betrayal sinking in her stomach as she sits in the hospital’s waiting room, hands shaking slightly in her lap. She can’t tell if they’re shaking because of the anger or the worry. Both would make sense. “How could he be so fucking  _ stupid _ ?” she whispers, not for the first time. It’s hard to get words out around the lump in her throat. “Where did he think he was going?”

 

“Nowhere,” Luke croaks from his seat. It’s the first time he’s spoken since they arrived at the hospital; the shock of hearing him speak leaves Shirley blinking dumbly at his hunched form, watching the way his leg bounces rapidly as he stares vacantly at the floor. He looks so small and afraid, and she almost reaches out to comfort him.

 

But she doesn’t. She doesn’t, and he clears his throat awkwardly in the answering silence. The moment passes, and she wishes she was as good at comforting her own family members as she is strangers. 

 

“It helps him think. Driving,” Luke continues, forcing an explanation past his lips when he clearly doesn’t want to be speaking at all. “He says he lines up his thoughts on the road and drives through them. Figures them out one by one.” 

 

From beside him, Leigh makes a choked sound, and he freezes, holding his breath like he’s done something wrong. “He’s  _ supposed  _ to wake me up. I told him… he told  _ me  _ he’d wake me up,” she whispers, and fresh tears fall down her cheeks. 

 

“It’s not your fault,” Shirley insists, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

 

Leigh shakes her head. “I know. I just… he could’ve talked to any of us. Any of us.”

 

“He’s always tried to deal with things himself,” Theo mutters, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. There’s a deep frown on her face, eyebrows scrunched together in a look of despair that contrasts her breezy tone. “Even when we were kids. He won’t admit it’s broken, but he’ll run himself into the ground trying to fix it.” The thread she’d been pulling at snaps, and she balls it up between her fingers. “We can probably thank Dad for that one.”

 

“Theo,” Shirley hisses. A warning. Hurt and indignance curl up in her chest, and she has to stomp down the instinct to start an argument. As much as she wants to defend her dad, she knows it’s not the place to argue, knows that none of them have the energy for it anyway.

 

With a huff, Theo flicks the ball of string onto the ground and sits back against her chair. She doesn’t say anything else.

 

Leigh puts her face in her hands and lets out a long, shaky breath.

 

————

 

Pain. That’s all he can comprehend. Everything hurts; every bone, every muscle, every inhale brings  _ pain. _ Everything hurts, and then it doesn’t.

 

Awareness doesn’t sneak up on Steve. Rather, it jumps in front of him and grabs his shoulders, alerting him immediately that he’s no longer asleep. Reluctantly, he cracks open an eye; light filters in through the windows, reaching across the worn carpet and dancing on the posters on his walls. Sighing, he lets his eye fall shut again as he debates just going back to sleep. He’s exhausted, down to his very bones, like he hasn’t slept at all.

 

Something is wrong. He doesn’t feel well; his body feels detached somehow, like he’s floating farther away from himself the longer his eyes are closed.  _ Maybe going back to sleep isn’t such a good idea, after all. _

 

Shoving the blankets off his small frame, Steve begrudgingly sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes. Blearily, he takes in his surroundings; blue walls, old furniture, his barely-ridden skateboard resting by the door. All of them are things he sees every day, so why do they seem foreign now? 

 

A light knocking draws his attention, and when he looks up, the door cracks open and his mother peeks in. A smile breaks across her face when she sees him, soft and warm like everything else she embodies. “You’re finally awake,” she greets as she steps into the room. Her red robe flows gently behind her as she crosses the space between them. The bed dips slightly when she sits on the end of it, a real indent from her  _ real _ weight— real, real, real.

 

Steve blinks.  _ Why wouldn’t she be? _

 

Worry clouds the warm glow of his mother’s smile. “What’s wrong, my love? Are you still feeling sick?” She reaches over and rests her the back of her hand against his forehead, then lets out a quiet breath of relief. “Your fever’s gone down, at least,” she murmurs.

 

_ Sick _ . He’s been sick and had a fever; that would explain the strangeness he feels. Of course. He clears his throat, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth as he tries to find his voice. “No, mom. I’m alright. Just… a weird dream, I think,” he finally says. His own voice sounds strange, the way it echoes around the room, much softer than he expected.

 

The smile Olivia gives him in return is blinding. “Well, you’re awake now, sweetheart. I’m so glad you’re feeling better. I was starting to worry!” she admits, leaning in conspiratorially. 

 

He basks in the fondness of her gaze, shrugging his shoulders and feeling a smile tug at his own lips. “I’m fine, mom. You don’t have to worry.”

 

A soft laugh slips past Olivia’s lips, and she gently brushes his hair back from his face. “I forget how grown up you are sometimes,” she murmurs. Her smile looks a little sad, and Steve feels as if she’s looking through him for a moment.

 

Steve squirms uncomfortably under her gaze, that achy, floaty feeling starting to seep back into his body. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, no matter how hard he tries to speak. Still, his mother looks at him with that vacant gaze. He sucks in a few breaths, trying to calm himself before he tries to speak again. “Mom?” he finally manages, his breath barely above a whisper.

 

Olivia blinks, her eyes refocusing on her eldest son before she breaks into a bright smile again. “Come downstairs, my love. I made breakfast,” she says, and all at once, the strange feeling passes, rolling off of his back like a wave. She holds out her hand to him as she stands up, and with the light shining behind her she looks almost ethereal.

 

A small smile finds its way onto Steve’s face. “Okay,” he whispers, and grabs his mom’s hand. When he slides out of bed, the floor chills his bare feet. “Okay.”

————

 

A coma. Her stupid, asshole, big brother is in a coma. 

 

Theo feels like her insides have been carved out, her still-bleeding, aching wounds echoing in the emptiness inside of her. Steve is supposed to be the strong one; he always has been. He’s also been the stupidest. To Theo, this whole shitshow just proves it.

 

She understands Leigh’s frustration and hurt, feels the anger mixing in with the myriad of negative emotions twisting up her gut. Angry that Steve is so emotionally constipated, angry at the house for trying to take him, angry with herself for not being able to stop anything from happening. That was the worst part— knowing that they’d all been trying their best to help, to support him, but it still hasn’t been enough.

 

The room they’ve put him in is surprisingly small, or maybe it just seems that way because of all the machinery and people filing in. It reminds her a little of the last time one of her brothers tried to take on the house, and her stomach churns uneasily at the thought.

 

Looking at Steve now, as he lies pale and still, reminds her too much of Nell. Nell in a coffin, not sleeping, not resting at all. She swallows the lump in her throat and forces herself to sink into a nearby chair.  _ This will be different _ , she tells herself. It will be different because it  _ has  _ to be, because none of them want to consider the alternative.

 

He’s alive, technically, although the beeping of the heart rate monitor and the steady rise and fall of his chest are the only signs of life she sees in the pale form laid out on the hospital bed. They're only a dim comfort, but she hones in on them anyway. It’s all she can do— just focus on the fact that he’s still  _ here. _

 

He doesn’t even look peaceful, like Nell did; his brows are pinched together slightly like he’s in pain, which seems impossible with all the medication he’s been given. Cuts and scrapes litter his face, splotchy bruises and red lines marking up whatever skin that isn’t covered in bandages. He looks like  _ shit _ , and she wishes she could make fun of him for it.

 

Leigh is clutching the hand that’s not hooked up to an IV, gentle yet urgent as she all but falls into the seat beside him. Part of Theo, the part that’s always observing people’s psyche (the part that evaluates and empathizes), aches at the thought of being in Leigh’s position. It’s bad enough to have her brother in the hospital bed; she can’t fathom how absolutely wrecked she would be if it was Trish. Just the thought of it makes Theo’s stomach churn, makes her stomp down on the thought and shove it aside before she loses what little composure she has left.

 

Looking around the room, she notices her siblings having a similar struggle. Shirley stands a few feet away from the hospital bed, as if she’s unsure how close she can get.  _ Or maybe she’s just scared, _ Theo thinks, watching her sister blink away tears. She understands the feeling; she, herself, is keeping some distance from the bed, from her older brother. The thought of touching him and possibly feeling his pain is unbearable; seeing him so hurt is bad enough.

 

Unlike his sisters, Luke seems to be losing the battle for composure. He’s still stuck a few steps from the doorway, staring with wide eyes at Steve, the older brother he’d wanted so badly to be like when they were kids. The older brother who tried and failed to help him fight addiction, who didn’t listen, who lately has been trying to mend old wounds.  _ This is what he’d been so afraid of when he’d called _ , Theo realizes, and her stomach lurches at the thought that maybe they’re the ones who have failed their brother this time. 

 

Just like that, Theo can’t stand to watch anymore, can’t stand to sit on the sidelines. After all, that’s what has gotten them into this mess, over and over—isolation. So, swallowing her own fear, Theo stands up and crosses the room, leaning on the wall next to her baby brother. “He’s alive,” she whispers, because she can’t promise him it’ll be okay. 

 

Luke swallows thickly and nods his head, a jerky motion as he shifts his weight on his feet. “He looks like shit.”

 

A small, sad smile tugs at Theo’s lips. “Worse than that,” she admits quietly. “But he’s tough. He won’t leave us. I’ll kick his ass if he does.” She’s only partially kidding when she says it.

 

She watches some of the tension bleed from Luke’s shoulders, sees him hesitate for a moment before he speaks. “So will Nell,” he finally mutters. 

 

That surprises a short laugh from Theo, and she shakes her head fondly. “You’re damn right she will.” After a brief moment of silence, she glances at the hospital bed, then back at Luke. “Will you be okay, or do you need a moment?” she asks.

 

Shaking his head, Luke shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a deep breath. “I’m good. Thanks, Theo,” he replies, quiet as ever. He gives her a small smile before he finally steps fully into the room and approaches the bed. 

 

Before he can reach it, he stops short, settling beside Shirley. He doesn’t say anything— just stands there with his hands in his pockets like there’s nowhere else to go, even with all the chairs in the room. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to, either. The grateful look Shirley gives him shows she appreciates his support all the same. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope all that POV switching didn’t give you whiplash!   
> Does this even make sense anymore?? Lol.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pulled in every direction, but none of them lead home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I heard y’all wanted to know what’s going on with Steve...

Golden light filters through the windows, dancing through the halls and sticking to Steve’s skin like the silence that seems to bleed from the walls.

 

Before moving to Hill House, Steven had never truly known quiet; living in small spaces with a large family hardly provided a moment of solace. The moment they’d crossed the threshold of Hill House, however, he felt a stillness, like the quiet was a cloak wrapping around his shoulders. Nellie always said the House was loud, but to Steve, it was the opposite.

 

Once, he’d thought that the stillness was a comfort; he’d cherished the peace and the old beauty of the home, thinking it akin to the stories he’d sometimes read with his mom. Now, as he wanders down the hallway after Olivia, he finds the silence too heavy. Now, it’s a literal weight on his shoulders, pressing in on all sides of him and refusing to ease up. He’s never been uncomfortable with silence, but now he thinks it might swallow him whole.

 

“Mom? Where is everyone?” he asks, voice wavering. He’ll never admit it, but the absence of noise is scaring him. Where is the clambering footsteps and shouts as the twins run down the hall? Why can’t he hear his dad and Mr. Dudley doing repairs? Shouldn’t he be hearing Theo’s music? The silence isn’t right; it’s not something he’s used to, even in such a big house.

 

Gentle hands come to rest on his shoulders, pulling him out of his thoughts. “They’re in the kitchen, my love. Your dream really scared you, didn’t it?” she murmurs, a gentle hand caressing his cheek.

 

His face burns, but he doesn’t lean away from the touch. “No, I’m fine, mom. Really,” he insists. He doesn’t want to be babied. “Nightmares don't scare me anymore. I’m too old for that.”

 

Olivia gives a small smile, squeezing Steve’s shoulders a little tighter. “You’re never too old to have a bad dream,” she murmurs. As the ache starts to return to Steve’s bones, she holds him tighter, staring at him but almost seeming to look through him. “Ones that scare you so much, you forget to breathe. A dream so terrible, it hurts everyone you love and never stops hurting. A dream where _you_ hurt everyone you love, and you keep hurting them, until no one wants to be around you anymore. You make them bleed, so they leave you all alone. And that dream never lets you go, keeps pulling you under until you’re too lost to come back.”

 

Tears stinging his eyes, Steve yanks out of his mom’s grasp, stumbling back a few steps and choking on a sob. His chest heaves, and he touches a shaking hand to his shoulder, still feeling his mom’s bruising grip. “Stop it,” he chokes out, and a hot tear streaks down his cheek. “Mom, stop.”

 

“It’s okay, Stevie,” she whispers, and takes a step forward. She frowns when he stumbles back, reaching out with desperate arms to try and pull him close. She suddenly looks close to tears. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You can wake up from the bad dream, and you can stay with me. We’ll be happy, I promise.” She takes another step forward, and Steve flinches.

 

He flinches, but he doesn’t pull away. “Am I… am I dreaming?” he hiccups, voice thick with tears. He can barely hear himself over the thundering of his heart. He hates himself, a little, for being so afraid of his own mother. _But a dream would make sense,_ he thinks. A dream, after all, could be the only place he’d ever be scared of his mother. His mom, who is warmth and comfort and light, and soft voices and beautiful stories and _love._ How could he be afraid of that?

 

Sensing his fear, Olivia stays where she is, just a few steps away. Just out of arm's reach. It seems fitting, somehow, but Steve can’t quite figure out why. With tears in her eyes, she nods and gives him a sad smile. “For so long, my love. But you’re waking up now. You’re coming home.”

 

_Home._

 

A soft, melancholy voice speaks up before Steve gets the chance to reply. “Liv, no.”

 

Two words, and a spell is broken; both Steve and Olivia look toward their source with very different expressions on their faces. Steve is overwhelmed with relief, but if he were to look at his mom, he’d see disappointment and a little anger on her face.

 

Stumbling toward his dad, Steve is too shaken to feel even a little ashamed of the tears still streaming down his cheeks, or the quiet hiccuping sound he’s making as he tries not to sob. He tells himself he’s not running away from his mom, even as he steps into his dad’s waiting arms and turns his back on her.

 

“He’s hurting, Hugh. You know he is,” she pleads. Immediately, Steve wants to go back to her, to reassure her, but his dad’s arms hold him in place.

 

“We’ve talked about this, honey.” His dad’s voice is a soothing rumble, familiar and yet distant, just like his mom’s. He misses them more than anything, even though they’re here with him now.

 

_That doesn’t make any sense._

 

“I didn’t bring him here!” Olivia cries, and Steve jumps a little at her outburst. Still, she carries on as if she hadn’t noticed at all. “He came on his own. All that loneliness, that hurt… he was calling out for me in his sleep, Hugh. He wants to come home. He _wants_ to.” Her voice is shaking, and when Steve finally gathers the courage to look at her, he sees that she’s crying, too.

 

She gives him a wan smile, tired but still warm and comforting and full of love. A smile he knows well. “Don’t you want to come home, my love?”

 

_Home. Home sounds nice._

 

Of course he wants to be home, where he’ll be safe and loved. Where he won’t be alone. He opens his mouth to answer, but his dad speaks up before he manages to form any words.

 

“Not yet, Liv. It’s not his time. The others need him.”

 

His mother’s face scrunches up like it does when she gets a migraine, more tears falling down her cheeks. “Please! I need him. I need him, here, with me. With us,” she whispers.

 

Steve’s heart is actually breaking in his chest; he’s sure of it. It has to be, the way his chest aches. “I _am_ here. I’m here, you can just talk to me!” he blurts, finally finding his voice. He’s tired of them talking like he’s not there, tired of not understanding what they’re talking about, tired in general. He’s just _tired_ , and he wants this all to stop. He just wants to be normal. “Let’s just get breakfast, okay? I don’t… I don’t want to have this talk anymore,” he bargains.

 

His mother’s face lights up at his words, but his dad’s grip on him only tightens as he stands his ground. “No.” He looks down at his son with sad eyes and a grim determination pulling at his lips. “You can’t. You can’t be here, Stevie. I’m sorry. You have to leave.”

 

Yanking out of his dad’s grip, Steve wraps his arms around himself, as if he could avoid anyone else grabbing him if he held on tightly enough. “What are you talking about?! Leave?” he shouts incredulously, looking between the two people he’d thought would always keep him safe. He feels like he’s being torn, in so many different directions, so many more than he can understand. “Why are you both being so weird?” He has to force the words past his lips, struggling to breathe, struggling to make any sound other than his gasping breaths.

 

“Stevie, it’s okay, sweetheart,” his mom soothes, and she steps forward to comfort him again. “I’m sorry for scaring you. It doesn’t have to hurt anymore. I promise. Come here, my love. Everything will be okay.”

 

For a moment, he considers walking into her arms, holding her close and taking in her warmth, her safety. At the last second, he flinches back, thinking of sharp nails digging into his shoulders and shaking his head furiously. “Just— just stop it! Stop!” He sucks in a sharp breath, feeling for a moment that he might throw up.

 

“Steve—“ Hugh starts, but Steve doesn’t let him finish.

 

“Leave me alone! I want to be alone!” he shouts, words pouring past his lips before he can really think about them.

 

Once again, his mother’s face crumples, but this time, his dad takes her hand. “Okay,” he says, simple as that. Then, between one blink and the next, they’re gone. Not a trace of them left, as if they were never there at all.

 

All that’s left is the long, dark hallway, and that fucking _silence._ The silence he’s always hated, the silence that clings to this god forsaken house like a terrible cliché, the kind he’d write into his books.

 

The thought makes Steve’s knees wobble, and his hand grabs the wall for support. _His books._  That’s right. He’s not a kid anymore. He’s not a kid, and his parents are dead, and his baby sister is dead, and his siblings all hate him, and he’s lost.

 

He shouldn’t be here. He was just in his car, wasn’t he?

 

Nothing makes sense. He doesn’t have a clue what’s going on, and he’d just told his dead parents to fuck off. A hysterical laugh bubbles past his lips at the realization, sharp and wet and not really a laugh at all. _What the fuck?_

 

Somewhere between one breath and the next, his laughter becomes a sob, until his body shakes with the force of his cries. “Come back,” he whispers, but there’s no response. He doesn’t really expect one, anyway. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t.”

 

Why can’t he ever think before he speaks? His mom, if it even was her who had been speaking to him, was right; all he did was hurt the people around him, even after they were long gone. Even if all he wanted was to understand, to help, to feel less alone.

 

When he sinks to the floor, it doesn’t make a sound; no creaks, no thunk, no way of knowing he was there at all. The house is terribly, achingly silent, except for the sound of his cries echoing off the walls.

 

That, too, seems fitting, and this time, he’s aware enough to know why.

 

He thinks of the skeleton he and his dad had found in the basement, all those years ago when they’d first come to the house. He’d overheard the officer talking with his dad, heard him say William had been missing for decades, when all along he’d been trapped in the house. Back then, he’d thought it was exciting, even in all its terror and sadness, to have a mystery solved. Thousands of cold cases, after all, would never be figured out, their answers forever lost to the sands of time.

 

He’d always been a sucker for solving a good mystery.

 

There’s still so much he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know if it was his parents he spoke to, doesn’t know if he’s the only one here. He doesn’t know how he _got_ to the house to begin with, or how long he’s been there. To be honest, he can’t even tell if he’s really _there_ in the first place.

 

 _“I’m having the strangest dream…”_ someone whispers, a million miles away and decades ago.

 

What he does know is how it feels to count bricks. To count, and keep counting, until the final brick has been laid and you realize you didn’t think much farther than the temporary safety of those walls. To try and claw your way out but come back with nothing—nothing except the decay that’s caked under your nails and crawling through your lungs.

 

He knows, because he’s done it— and he can’t help but feel like he’ll be bones and dust by the time anyone cares enough to pick up a hammer and chisel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whump????? Again?


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nell finds her place & Luke doesn’t dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live!!!!  
> Sorry for the long absence, everyone! Was struggling with some depression-induced writers block. HOWEVER, I am still in fact writing this fic, and I intend on finishing it!
> 
> So thank you for being patient with me and for continuing to come back to my story.  
> I appreciate you <3

 

* * *

The thing about hospitals is that they’re never really quiet. There’s always the beeping of machines, footsteps in the hall, nurses checking in every couple hours. Combined with uncomfortable chairs, it’s a pretty hellish place to spend the night, even if you disregard the worry and the pain of having a loved one there. 

 

_ (How could you?) _

 

It’s because of the noise and the discomfort that Shirley stays awake, long after Theo takes Leigh home, long after she calls to talk to Kevin and the kids, long after Luke falls asleep. 

 

_ It’s the noise _ , she tells herself, between a million racing thoughts and plans because she can never really  _ stop  _ when there’s a crisis. Not when she has to assess the damage and prepare for all outcomes, when she has to support her family and run her funeral home and figure out how to save her brother.

 

Because if there’s one thing she won’t do, it’s plan her older brother’s funeral. Not until they’re all old and gray, not until all the kids have grown up and they’ve lived full lives. She’s already buried Nell and their dad; she refuses to let the house take anyone else. 

 

“I told Luke it wasn’t too late.” Her voice shakes when she speaks, just more noise in a plethora of sounds. 

 

Across the room, curled up on his cot, Luke stirs, but doesn’t wake. He’s always been a heavy sleeper; Nell was the only one who could ever wake him up.

 

Sniffling, Shirley looks everywhere but the form laying in the hospital bed in front of her. “Don’t… Don’t make me a liar, okay? I’m trying to be more honest these days.” 

 

There’s a cluster of dots on the ceiling that almost look like a kitten, if she stares at it long enough. Her gaze flickers to the television mounted on the wall. She stares at the black screen and imagines the Golden Girls reruns that are sure to be waiting. 

 

Steve doesn’t answer verbally, but his heart monitor keeps a steady read. Air fills his lungs. He doesn’t speak, but Shirley knows he hasn’t given up. It should make her happy, should put her at peace that he’s at least still alive, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t, because she shouldn’t have to be making compromises and telling herself the silence is better than him being dead. It’s a shitty, low standard to have, and she knows it. 

 

“I never thought I’d miss your smartass comments,” she whispers, looking down at her hands, which are tightly clasped in her lap. It’s a lie, and she knows it. Steve might know it, too, if he were listening. She hopes he would, anyway. Before the book, before their fighting, his constant commentary used to make her laugh, or at least conjure a fond annoyance. After, she’d had to adjust to his absence in her life, and part of that was dealing with silence. Theo moving in helped fill that space, until Shirley could pretend she didn’t miss their older brother at all. 

 

She’s not sure she can adjust to that silence again; so far, she’s not doing very well. 

 

Someone is crying down the hall. Frowning, Shirley glances at the door, wondering how upset they must be for the wailing to echo down the corridor like that. She sighs, knowing it’s not really her business in the first place. After all, she has her own tragedies to deal with.

 

Although, the longer she listens, the closer it sounds. What was initially echoing in the distance seems to shift from room to room, until Shirley can hear the muffled sobs through the thin walls, coming from the room directly next to Steve’s. Taking a deep breath, Shirley blinks against the tears in her own eyes. 

 

She exhales, and the sound amplifies, shifting once again so that it’s now in the room with them. For a moment, Shirley thinks she’s finally breaking down, finally letting loose all the pain she’s been trying to bottle up inside. Then her eyes scan the room—never landing on Steve, not even for a second—and she sees the true source of the sound.

 

Nellie.

 

Nell, standing at Steve’s side and weeping, looking scared and small, and Shirley can’t  _ breathe. _

 

_ “ _ I’m sorry,” Nell wails, choking on a sob as she stares in horror at their older brother. “I— I didn’t mean… oh god. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

Grief and fear are choking Shirley, clawing at her throat as she watches the ghost of her baby sister. Sucking in a shaky breath, she wills herself not to cry. “It’s okay, Nellie,” she whispers. She doesn’t know if it’s true, doesn’t know if this is where Nell means to be or not; still, she wants to reassure her as best as she can.

 

Hugging herself tightly, Nell shakes her head and heaves another sob. She still hasn’t looked away from Steve, not for a single second. “I didn’t mean for him… I just… I wanted to warn him. I didn’t want… Shirl, you have to believe me. I didn’t want to hurt him. I wanted to help. I only ever want to help,” she pleads, gasping breaths slipping past her lips even though she no longer needs them. 

 

Shirley can’t stop the fat tears slipping down her cheeks, no longer has the energy to try and stop them. It feels as though she’s been slapped. “You…” she chokes out, but she stops herself at the stricken look on her sister’s face. Reacting with her anger and horror aren’t going to help, so she swallows thickly and tries again, tries for something more hopeful. “He didn’t… it wasn’t on purpose?” she asks. 

 

Nell shakes her head, sniffling and hiccuping out another sob. “No. He swerved to avoid me,” she chokes. “I was… I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t. Please, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

The wave of relief that washes over Shirley is just as strong as the hurt and fear that follow. “I know. I know, Nellie. It’s okay. You’re okay. You don’t have to be sorry,” she reassures, speaking around the lump in her throat.

 

Watery eyes travel over to meet hers, and Shirley thinks she sees a flicker of gratefulness through the pain in Nell’s gaze. “Is he gonna be okay?” Nell breathes. She always thought her siblings had all the answers, but they never really did. Not for the questions that really mattered.

 

This time, though, Shirley knows what to say. She knows, because nothing else is an acceptable outcome. “Yeah,” she says, and finally looks at the mangled body laying on the bed.  _ Healing, _ she tells herself.  _ Broken, but healing.  _ “Yeah. He’ll be fine.” She reaches over and rests a gentle hand on her brother’s bruised arm, a small smile twitching at the corner of her lips. “He has us.”

 

Nellie’s gone again when she looks back, but it doesn’t surprise her. She knows she’s just going to find their brother.

 

————

 

He doesn’t dream that night.

 

Steve once told him, in that irritated tone of his, that it’s  _ impossible  _ for someone to go into a dreamless sleep. “You  _ always _ dream. Everyone does, every single night; that’s how the brain works. You just don’t always remember it. They’ve done studies,” he’d explained, heaving a sigh and rolling his eyes.

 

Now, half-awake and staring at the tiled ceiling of his older brother’s hospital room, Luke thinks he has to disagree with that statement, science be damned. He knows he didn’t dream. How could he, when he barely feels like he’s slept at all?

 

The cot creaks in protest as he sits up, rubbing at the crust in the corners of his eyes. He’s equal parts relieved and disappointed to see Steve still unconscious, a heavy sigh slipping past his lips unbidden. 

 

“Morning,” Shirley greets, and gives him a small wave from her seat beside Steve. Luke thought he’d slept poorly, but she doesn’t look like she’s slept at all. She’s clutching a steaming cup of coffee like it’s her lifeline, and the dark circles under her eyes point out that it very well may be all that’s keeping her up.

 

“Morning,” Luke finally mumbles, stifling a yawn as he stands and stretches. “Did I miss anything?” His gaze finds Steve again, stuck staring at the bruises that stand out on his sickly pale face. 

 

It takes a few moments for Shirley to reply; Luke assumes her lack of sleep is making her sluggish. “No,” she finally mumbles. She clears her throat awkwardly. “A nurse checked about twenty minutes ago. She said everything looks the same— his vitals, all of that.”

 

Luke slumps into a chair beside her, and the smell of coffee drifting over and making him wish he had some of his own. Maybe it would make him feel more awake. He lets silence settle over them for a few moments, watching the heart-rate monitor keeping a steady pace.

 

“Do you think he can hear us?” he finally asks, tearing his gaze away and making himself look at his oldest sister. 

 

She’s not looking at him, instead staring vacantly at Steve. “I don’t know,” she replies quietly. Blinking slowly, she heaves a sigh and shakes her head. “If he can, then this is me officially telling him to get his ass in gear and come back to us.”

 

Luke snorts. “Even if he can’t hear us, I think he gets the message loud and clear.” He misses the fond smile Shirley gives him, too busy staring at his hands. “I wish there was something we could do,” he mutters with a heavy sigh. He picks at the dry skin on his thumb, his leg bouncing up and down as he does. 

 

“I know. But talking to him might help. That’s what the doctor said, anyway. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” Shirley replies, reaching over and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

 

His leg stalls in its movement for a moment as he looks over at his sister in surprise; not at her words, but at her attempt to comfort him. He’s still not used to anyone showing they care about him, and he’s not sure if he ever will be. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Luke looks back at Steve and nods. “Yeah, but… what do we say? What should I say?” 

 

“Whatever feels right. Whatever you want to say to him is okay,” Shirley says, simple as that. As if he could sum up how he was feeling into words, as if he could untangle the knot in his brain enough to say something important to his brother. 

 

As if he could do all of that and also manage to say it in front of Shirley, too.

 

Luke swallows thickly. “What if… what if we read to him? He likes to read. We could… someone could bring books, and we could read to him. Or something. I don’t know. People do that, right?” he babbles, biting his lip.

 

Squeezing his shoulder gently, Shirley smiles as she stands up; it's a small, sad smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sure, we can do that. I’ll step into the hall and try and call Leigh. She’ll know which ones he’ll want to listen to.”

 

Nodding, Luke stays silent until she leaves the room, until she pulls the door shut behind her and leaves them alone. It’s only then that he turns to face his brother, taking a deep breath and counting numbers in his head. As he exhales, he tries to imagine a sentence forming, pictures what he wants to say before he speaks. He doesn’t want to mess this up.

 

“Stevie, listen, you gotta wake up. You gotta come back to us. It’s… it’s really hard on us to see you like this. All of us, but especially Leigh. She loves you so much, man. We all love you, y’know? And it… this fucking sucks. It sucks, and I think we’re all a little mad at you for it. But it’s just because we’re worried, you know? And we want to help, but we can’t right now. This part’s all you. You gotta take the first steps, Stevie. It's not easy, but once you do, you can come back. And then we can help. We won’t let you down, okay? Just… just come back, and then we’ll fix it. I got your back, Stevie, I promise.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat to try and dislodge the lump forming in it. “There. I gave my speech. You better be listening,” he whispers, sniffling.

 

Steve doesn’t respond.

Luke wasn’t really expecting much, but he still resents the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke Crain back at it with the emotional speeches

**Author's Note:**

> Listen.... I know this is just mostly whump but I’m sick of the Steve hate and people not acknowledging that he has been through hell and is still struggling, just like the rest of his siblings. If you think the other Crain siblings would stand for all the shit people say about him you are WRONG.  
> Anyway this fic is going to focus heavily on the siblings (obviously) because all of the scenes of younger Steve with his siblings and the scenes when they were older and things were good make me soft. (For example, dancing at the wedding with Nell.)


End file.
